Breath Against The Glass
by Alex Foster
Summary: Quinn reluctantly agrees to help Rachel get in touch with her inner rebel to prepare for a stage role. What follows is a series of weekends and late nights as both are pulled into each other's world. Season 3 AU. Punk!Quinn. Accomplished!Rachel.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Breath Against The Glass

Author: Alex Foster

Word Count: 27,000+

Pairing: Quinn/Rachel

Rating: PG-13

Contains: Alcohol and drug use, underage characters (late teens), mild sexual situations, a few derogatory and misogynist terms (not prevalent), original characters, descriptions of body piercing, no character bashing.

Summary: Quinn reluctantly agrees to help Rachel get in touch with her inner rebel to prepare for a stage role. What follows is a series of weekends and late nights as both are pulled into each other's world. Season 3 AU. Punk!Quinn Accomplished!Rachel.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by FOX. Song lyrics belong to their respected writer/singers and record companies. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: I wrote this story for my first CampNaNo this year, a more relaxed month long writing event where campers choose their own goals. I set a goal of 25,000 words and finished with six days to spare. I had a great time writing this story and hope you enjoy it as well. Thank you very much for reading.

* * *

"_This is my world now. I think I liked yours better._"  
- Farscape

"_I'll follow you into the dark_…"  
- Death Cab For Cutie

* * *

**Chapter One**

The crisp autumn breeze took the ash from the tip of her cigarette, its ember glow flashing briefly before disappearing completely. Quinn took another drag and felt the satisfying dry harshness fill her lungs. Hair dyed bright pink ruffled when she turned away from the wind and exhaled.

The walkway behind the school was mostly empty with only a couple of stragglers down by the overhang, leaning back in the shade. The usual hangout for the McKinley Skanks and various potheads looking to smoke in peace. She'd even seen a few teachers sneak out here for the occasional cigarette.

The school day wasn't even half over yet but judging by the freshly snuffed cigarettes on the ground several of the teachers and students had started early. Quinn scuffed the toe of her Doc Marten in the dirt by the chain link fence. She didn't really know why she even showed. Her grades were better than all the Skanks combined but she'd given up on perfect attendance a long time ago.

The kids down the path in the shade looked her way and Quinn stared back before flicking the cigarette butt away and turning her head up to the sun. She closed her eyes. They weren't her group and weren't worth her time.

Quinn was debating the merits of smoking another over heading back in to finish out the day when movement from the other side of the fence caught her attention. The scent of apple shampoo on top of cherry slushy caught the breeze and gave her a good idea who was disturbing her.

The polite sound of a throat clearing confirmed it. Quinn had to hold back a smile when her visitor cleared her throat again for attention, more petulant and forcefully this time.

"What do you want, Rachel?"

"How did you know it was me?"

Now Quinn opened her eyes and looked through the fence at her. "Same way I always know you are around." It wasn't a lie technically and she put just enough venom in the words to make Rachel think it was a bad thing.

Her reward was a subtle downward sniff of clothes that looked like they belonged on the other side of the fence from the Skanks. A pink sweater with purple hearts on it, a black pleated skirt, and flats had no business being in the same area as cigarette butts and roach joints.

Another smoke sounded like a good idea. Quinn bummed one from the pocket of her jeans and lit with her Zippo. The lighter was actually Puck's but possession and nine tenths of the law and all that. She liked the snap it made when she flicked it closed.

"What do you want, Rachel?" Quinn blew smoke to the side.

"I really wish you wouldn't do that to yourself. Not to mention the helpless hundreds exposed to your second hand poisonous cloud."

Normally the Those Will Kill You Speech wasn't worth her time but smoking as though just to spite Rachel somehow made it even more enjoyable. "I doubt I have to worry about my singing voice," Quinn said, taking a long drag and then adding, "If that is why you are here I told you before that I'm not coming back. I don't need glee."

"But we need you!" Rachel seemed poised to give her the recruitment speech for the umpteenth time before thinking better of it. "But that isn't why I'm here however. I have a proposition for you."

"Not interested."

Hurt look number eight oh three came her way. "But you haven't even heard me out."

"Don't have to." Quinn flicked ash away, not bothering to watch it leave this time. "I'm not looking for any extracurricular activities."

"I will pay you for your time."

Quinn side eyed her, trying to figure out how big this favor was going to be.

Obviously sensing an opening, Rachel seized on that line of attack. "Surely you could use supplementary income to help pay for your carcinogenic habit not to mention whatever sort of bribery you must employ at your age to acquire them."

She wasn't wrong there. Judy was getting wise to Quinn advancing her own allowance these days and had taken to hiding her pocketbook.

"How much and how long?"

"I will pay you twenty dollars a lesson," Rachel said. "How many lessons depends on your skill as a teacher."

Quinn smiled in spite of herself. "You want me to teach you something? What could you possibly not been a master of by the age of three?"

"I wish you to teach me how to be badass."

Quinn laughed so loud and sudden that the kids in the shade glanced over at her.

"I am being serious."

"Oh, I don't doubt it." She wiped at her eyes. "You want me to … what, teach you how to knock over liquor stores?"

"Well, hopefully nothing quite so drastic. I have landed the coveted role of a bad girl in the Squareround Playhouse's most recent production. While my dance and musical abilities are more than adequate for any role, I feel I must expand my method acting skill.

"That is where you come in." Rachel paused then said, "I could think of no one better suited to losing themselves in a role than you."

Quinn ignored the dig and shrugged. "So what am I supposed to do?"

"Well…" Rachel gestured weakly. "Whatever it is that you and your newfound ilk do for fun. I just need to see you in your environment. I will learn through osmosis."

"You'll pay me to puppy dog around after me when I go out? No thanks."

Rachel sighed. "I will not 'puppy dog' anyone. And I'll cover minor expenses."

"How minor?"

"Gas within reason – I might need an odometer reading from your car before we begin – and incidentals."

Quinn thought about it, looking for any sign it was actually a trick to get her back into glee.

"No one has to know," Rachel quickly added. "It will be our secret. No club members if you don't want them."

Reluctantly, Quinn agreed. "Fine. But cash up front and I can call this off at any time."

"Of course."

The next period bell rang inside the school.

Rachel fidgeted when she saw Quinn wasn't going to move. "Are we starting now…?"

"No. Be in front of your house at midnight."

"Midnight?!"

Quinn dropped her cigarette in the dirt and mashed it with her heel. "Or don't."

"Very well." Rachel started walking backward. "I'll see you then. Thank you, Quinn."

The kids in the shade were glancing her way again. Quinn glared back this time until they decided it wasn't wise to miss the next period.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Quinn returned home. The sky already starting to turn purple with falling night.

Judy's car was in the driveway when Quinn pulled in and parked.

Quinn slipped her house key in the lock and carefully opened the door. Inside was dark and quiet. She dropped her backpack in the foyer and headed for the kitchen.

Passing through the dining room, she found Judy. Sitting at the table listening to one of her preachy self-improvement audio books.

"Quinn." Even after months of the new look, Judy's eyes still took a moment to focus on her daughter. And Quinn doubted she saw what was really there. "How was school, honey?"

"It was fine." She gave her mother a polite kiss on the cheek and smelled alcohol. Not bothering to comment on it, she up held the unspoken agreement between them. Judy didn't mention the cigarette smell or hours she kept and Quinn didn't mention all the empty bottles that again filled their recycle bin.

Pulling away she continued on to the kitchen. This was the least favorite part of her day. The masquerade of their happy middle class life. She barreled through it as fast as she could.

"Would you like me to order something for dinner?"

"No thanks." Quinn poured a glass of orange juice and grabbed an energy bar from the cabinet. "Ton of homework to get through."

It was a lie and if Judy even suspected she didn't call her on it. Just went back to her book and twist cap bottled store bought smoothie. Quinn highly doubted it still held the original strawberry and kiwi mix.

"If you change your mind just let me know."

Quinn was already on her way up the stairs. Another daily ritual over. Inside the safety of her room, she locked the door. Leaving her boots on, she cranked her iPod up and fell back on the bed.

For a long while she lay there listening to one track after another, the iPod helpfully picking random songs from her playlists.

"_I've got this friend, I don't think you know her. She sings a simple song..._"

Eventually her thoughts began to stray to the deal she made with Rachel. It was a mistake, she knew. She'd spent the past couple of months staying away from the club and their zany drama for good reason and this was just going to draw her back in.

Rachel wasn't going to show, she finally decided. And if she did there would be a choir sized intervention circle behind her.

By the time it was fully dark outside Quinn resolved herself to blowing the whole thing off. Tomorrow she'd spin it into a joke and the Skanks would have a nice laugh at Rachel's expense.

Kicking her boots off, Quinn reached for her phone and began surfing the internet. Somehow she ended up clicking Rachel's Facebook page and noticed a new status update.

_Late night study session with a friend tonight!_

Quinn sighed and nearly tossed the phone away.

She scanned the rest of the page and noticed something else. Relationship status: Single.

* * *

The Berry household was on her way. As she navigated the dark suburban streets, Quinn still figured it was a trick. And wasn't sure if she would stop if Rachel was indeed waiting.

She was. Perched on the curb in front of her house, Rachel sat with a thermos beside her and phone in her hand.

Quinn pulled to a stop and reached across the center console to open the passenger side door. "Get in."

Rachel happily bounded into the seat and reached for the seatbelt. "I was beginning to think you stood me up," she said.

"Cash."

"Oh. Of course." Rachel reached into the pocket of her jacket and withdrew folded bills.

Quinn grabbed them and counted while she drove. Satisfied, she slipped them in her bra.

They traveled in silence. Quinn took them away from the middle class areas of Lima and toward a decidedly less reputable section. Here the houses were smaller, squatter, and not as well maintained.

"Where are we going?" Rachel asked at last. "What's the first lesson?"

"I thought you were learning by observing."

She set the thermos on the floor next to her feet. "Well, yes but I figured you would have had some exercises prepared or—"

"There is no trick," Quinn said and turned down a side street. "Nothing to learn. Just do whatever you want and don't give a damn what anyone thinks about you."

"That is all well and good but it hardly helps me get into character," Rachel said.

Quinn turned again. "Well I'm not an acting teacher." She found the house she was looking for and pulled into the driveway, killing the lights before they could flash dark windows.

"What are we doing here?"

Quinn smiled. "Finding our motivation." She popped the door and climbed out, listening as Rachel followed.

The house was a squat little ranch style with a freestanding single car garage. Not bothering with the front walk, Quinn started around the garage. Behind her the house was dark and silent.

"This certainly seems safe," Rachel whispered.

"It is." Quinn glanced back at her. "I've been here many times."

Around back was a small apartment with flaking stucco. There was a light on inside and music playing. Quinn gave a hop step on the stoop and knocked on the frame.

"Yeah?" The front door opened and a large olive skinned man with tattoos across his bare chest peered out.

"This is a raid," Quinn deadpanned.

He smiled and opened the door fully. "Hey, Quinn."

She stepped over the threshold and gestured to Rachel who was hanging back out of sight. "Might be safer in here than out there."

Inside was small but orderly with piles of books, newspapers, and an assortment of bongs lining the shelves and tables. Save for a bed in one corner the only furniture was an old couch and a beanbag chair. A tv hung on the wall with an XBox sitting on the floor beneath it.

Keeping her hands at her sides, Rachel maneuvered the room and tried to avoid touching anything. Her wide eyed gaze spoke volumes.

"It's cool that you brought a friend." He began digging around in a cabinet above the tv.

"Yes," Rachel added, "and many of our other friends know we are here."

He gave her a confused glance and then looked at Quinn for help.

She shook her head. "Ignore her. Rachel, this is Isaac. Isaac, this is Rachel. There. Now we are all friends."

"Nice to meet you." He closed the cabinet and held up a sandwich bag sealed and then folded over twice wrapped with a rubber band. "Same order as usual?"

"You know it." Quinn reached into her pocket for cash.

"You are buying drugs! You brought me to an actual crackhouse run by some sort of drug kingpin?"

Isaac looked hurt. "Hey now. Pot is legal in several states."

"Not this one!"

Quinn traded her cash for the bag and slipped it into her pants pocket. "Rachel, calm down. This isn't a crackhouse and Isaac is a med student, not a drug kingpin."

"My parents are hippies," he explained. "The hydroponic kind. I just sell a little weed on the side to help pay for school and textbooks."

"I'm sure the Lifetime movie about your struggles will be excellent," Rachel snapped.

"You wanted to see life on the other side of the tracks," Quinn said, walking past. "Welcome to it. Catch you next time, Isaac."

"Bye. Feel free to not bring your friend next time."

Outside Rachel hurried to keep up with her. "I can't believe you brought me along to … _buy drugs_." On the last bit she lowered her voice so no one would overhear.

"Oh would you relax. It isn't that big of a deal. Plus you asked to come with; I didn't bug you to tag along."

"Not a big deal? What if we'd been arrested? Do you know how that would look on my record?"

They reached Quinn's car and she climbed in behind the wheel. "Isaac is cool and he only deals to people he knows."

"Apparently not." Rachel belted herself in. "Because he doesn't know me from Eve."

Quinn turned the key and started the engine. "He probably assumed that since you were with me that you weren't a narc." She backed out of the driveway and started up the street, hitting her lights once they were clear of the house.

They drove in silence for several long moments. Quinn reversed their previous route and started back toward the Berry home.

Rachel was the one to break the quiet, "So do you do that sort of thing a lot?"

"Once in a while. I buy enough to last so I always have some when I feel like getting high."

"I see." Her gaze flicked to Quinn's pocket with the lip of the bag still sticking out. "That is what one would normally do with it."

Quinn smiled. "Yes it usually is." Then, "Would you like to try some?"

"No!" The word was out of her mouth so fast Quinn had no doubt a childhood of watching Just Say No commercials had done their job.

"I thought you were being method? If your character is a bad girl wouldn't she smoke a joint with me if I asked?"

Rachel's jaw worked as she thought. "I suppose you are correct, but seeing as how I will not be high during the play it isn't necessary I experience that tonight."

"Your loss."

"Did you—" Rachel seemed to think better of whatever she was going to say.

"What?"

"Um, did you do that before? When you were a Cheerio?

Quinn laughed. "No. I didn't do that sort of thing then and I wouldn't have passed Coach Sue's random drug tests if I had."

"I see."

They fell back into quiet as the neighborhoods began looking safer and more respectable outside the windows. Quinn turned onto Birch Hill Road.

"Does it help?"

Quinn didn't ask if she meant the pot or something else. "It doesn't hurt." The car came to a stop in front of Rachel's house.

"Thank you very much, Quinn," Rachel said. "It has been enlightening."

"I'm, uh, I'm going out again this weekend if you want to come with."

"To an opium den this time?"

Quinn nearly smiled. "No, nothing like that. Just a place I like to go to listen to music and dance."

Those were the magical words. "Okay."

"Sneak out at ten," she said. "I'll pick you up here. If you need to do it later it's fine."

Rachel shot her a look. "I'll be here but I won't have to sneak out. My fathers trust me."

"Think of it as an acting exercise. Go out the window."

That seemed to please Rachel more than it probably should have. She seemed to want to say more but held back.

Quinn watched her not making any motions to leave. "I'm not going to kiss you goodnight."

"Oh. I know. I was just thinking. Goodnight." She opened the door and left with a quick wave.

Quinn put the car in gear and started home. Not really sure why she arranged to teach another class. Opening a window, she let cool night air fill the car. It was boredom, she figured. Plus somewhere buried deep inside was the head Cheerio Quinn and she rather enjoyed the idea of shocking and corrupting Rachel.

When she shut the car off at home, Quinn noticed the thermos was still on the floor. Forgotten in all the excitement of drug deals. She leaned over the center console and picked it up. Unscrewing the cap, she sniffed.

Soy hot chocolate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

They didn't interact at all during school. Which surprised Quinn a little. She figured the club would have sought her out convinced she was going to return to the fold since she had spoken to Rachel. Or for Puck to at least try to bum a joint from her now that he knew she had a fresh supply.

But they didn't so that meant Rachel actually held up her end of the deal and kept it to herself.

Surprising.

Their social circles didn't cross and Rachel didn't seek her out. Once during the week, Quinn saw the club coming down the hall singing about Schue's lesson of the week – whatever it was – but aside from brief eye contact Rachel passed her by.

Quinn made sure her Skanks returned the favor. It was mostly unspoken – mostly because she had to forcefully make the point to The Mack early on – that the glee club was off limits.

By the time Friday rolled around she was ready to get out of her head for a while. Judy was back on trying to get Quinn to return to church. She'd gone once with the pink hair and it went over as well as she had expected. Now between her new look and Beth a couple of years ago, she was a tarnished soul in their eyes. Someone to pity.

Judy thought if Quinn went, dyed her hair back, and wore bright dresses again all would go back to how it was.

Quinn knew that wasn't true and had her own issues with God so she figured it was best for everyone if she just stayed away.

The house was dark save for a shaft of light coming from Judy's room. Quinn held her boots in her hand as she quickly padded down the stairs. By the door she slipped the shoes on and grabbed her coat before ducking out into the night.

The drive to Rachel's seemed faster than last time. She pulled to the curb and reached across for the door release.

Rachel, good to her word, was waiting on the steps and hurried down the walk when she saw her. Dressed in a plaid skirt, tights, and dark green sweater that was nearly black in the night it was the closest to stylish Quinn had seen her, but far from the edgy look Rachel probably figured she was wearing.

She slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. "I went out the window."

"Still want to do this then?"

"Of course! I've been looking forward to it all week."

She had? Quinn doubted that from the lack of contact and was quietly impressed Rachel hadn't betrayed herself. Maybe she was a better actress than Quinn had given her credit for.

Putting the car in gear she pulled away from the curb. "We have to make a stop first."

"Uh-oh."

"Not drugs this time. One of those incidentals you talked about."

"That reminds me." Rachel dug around in her purse and pulled out several neatly folded bills. "Your payment."

Quinn accepted it without counting to be sure the amount was correct.

She took the highway and drove toward the Lima proper, leaving the suburbs behind. Save for Rachel humming Rodgers and Hammerstein to herself the trip was quiet.

Halfway to their first stop, Rachel turned her head to glance down an exit ramp as they passed it. Quinn did a quick mental check and realized the playhouse she had mentioned was in that direction.

"So you are really in a play?" she asked. "I thought maybe that was just something you'd made up."

"Hardly. It is a limited run production written by local talent. About urbanites finding themselves through art and self-expression."

It sounded like a dog to Quinn but she didn't say anything.

"Maybe you can come see it?"

"I don't think so."

"Oh."

Another three exits and Quinn turned off the highway. At a stoplight she turned left and started cruising past businesses closed for the weekend. The only places open were liquor stores, tattoo and piercing parlors, and bars. Alcohol and bad decisions.

The place Quinn was after didn't offer any of those things. Pulling into a small plaza, she parked in front of a small shop and flashed her lights twice. Killing the engine she opened her door and said, "Let's go."

"A printing shop?" Rachel sounded confused but followed. "What are we doing here?"

"Getting you something you are going to need." Quinn knocked on the glass door and waited. A few seconds later she heard the lock snap back.

Inside the lights were off but the computers were on, filling the store with a pale blue glow. The girl letting them into the shop did a double take when Rachel walked in. "Whoa. You didn't tell me it was for Berry."

"Yeah, well it is. Do you have it done?"

Lilly Turner was a Skank in mostly just name. She liked black lipstick and had an eyebrow piercing, but the pudgy girl with bad eyesight mostly just wanted to belong somewhere. If she couldn't hook the Skanks up with certain passes, they wouldn't have much use for her.

Quinn felt for her, underneath her cool mask of leadership, and saw a little of the person Lucy would probably have grown into when she looked at Lilly.

"Yeah I just need the picture." Lilly gestured for Rachel to step behind the counter. "If you would just stand against the wall there." An unsure gaze flicked to Quinn, not sure how polite she should be to Rachel. "Please?"

Quinn turned away and put her hands in her pockets. She didn't worry about the gossip of this getting out in the school – the Skanks weren't like the Cheerios in that regard. And her control over the group was strong enough it wouldn't matter even if they were like the cheerleaders.

Lilly typed a few keys on her computer, looked up at Rachel, and then took off her glasses and handed them to her. "Here. Put these on. It will make you look older."

Confused, Rachel did as told. Standing with her heels against the wall and looking at the webcam mounted on the computer.

Lilly snapped the photo and then amended some of the saved information on her screen. Five minutes later the printer and lamination machine started humming.

Quinn looked over the final product. The Skanks had never been let down by the quality of Lilly's work, but they also had attitudes to throw behind their bluffs; Rachel pretty much only had this. It was a near perfect duplicate of Rachel's Ohio driver's license with just the birth date fudged. The glasses did help in the photo compared to Rachel without them.

It wouldn't pass a traffic stop, but it didn't have to.

With the fake id still warm from the printer, Rachel paid Lilly and followed Quinn from the store.

Back in the car, Rachel turned it over in her hand and studied it.

"Not mad?"

"No quite the contrary. I wish I could have picked a different name. I would have gone with my character's name to better submerge myself. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

They were back on the road traveling to their next stop. There was a surprising amount of traffic – partiers and bored kids, Quinn figured.

Businesses eventually gave way to industrial parks and warehouses. She pulled into a vacant lot and cut across the field all the way to the far end. There were already two rows of cars parked on the grass near an old rusted chain link fence. Quinn swung into the nearest open space and turned the engine off. A single story building stood just beyond the empty lot – formerly a diesel repair shop but now its basement housed an alternative club known as The Runaway.

"You brought me to a rave?" Rachel's nose was nearly pressed against the window.

"Not a rave. A club. Come on, let's go."

Quinn's steel toed boots sank into the soft earth as they walked around cars parked haphazardly in a long row. Several people gathered around the building, smoking and laughing with each other. Closer to the doors she could hear the thump of music.

The security guy manning the doors barely looked at Quinn's id but paid closer attention to Rachel's. She practically bounced on the balls of her feet with anticipation and nerves.

He shined his flashlight in Rachel's face a second time and then handed the id back. "Go on in."

Beyond the entrance they turned and began descending a metal staircase to the open basement. The houselights were low and the stage lights flashed blue and green. In place of a band however was a DJ station that filled the club with loud music that was several miles away from Rodgers and Hammerstein.

"It isn't quite what I expected," she shouted in Quinn's ear.

The ground floor had a smattering of tables along the wall, a bar in the rear, pool tables in one corner, and the rest of the space was set aside for a dance floor. By Quinn's estimate there were more than double the number of people crowding around than there were cars outside. Pushing her way through, she aimed for the DJ station up front.

Rachel was right behind her, hurrying to keep up so she didn't get lost in the shuffle.

The music continued to thump but the DJ stood in front of his table instead of at the controls, sorting through a box of CDs.

"Better not be looking for more disco," Quinn said coming up behind him.

"Eight minutes of dance, baby." He turned and they clasped hands in greeting. "How you be?"

"Same." Quinn shrugged and glanced over her shoulder at Rachel hanging back by the pool tables, looking like she was debating trying to lean against a corner to appear cool. "I won't bite, Rachel. Come meet Ennis."

DJ Ennis was in his mid twenties and looked every inch the hipster with his bleached hair, skinny jeans, and fashionably battered hoodie. He was the best record spinner – though the pool was not very big – in the underground music scene of Lima. If Rachel was going to live in this world, albeit temporarily, she needed to know him.

He waved at Rachel with one hand covered in rings. "So you're the new girlfriend, huh? Nice to meet you. Your tastes are improving, Fabray."

"What? Oh, no we're not—"

Ennis found the CD he was looking for and slapped it against his palm as he started back up the console. "Catch you guys later. Enjoy the show, huh."

Quinn took Rachel's arm and began dragging her away. "Come on. You owe me at least two incidentals."

"That man thinks we're—"

"What? Yeah, I guess." Quinn shoved her way past dancers a little harsher than maybe what was necessary. "It isn't the end of the world. Is it?"

"Well, no of course not. I'm rather surprised by your cavalier attitude though. I suppose I shouldn't be. I guess it goes with the rest of the things you don't care about. Makes sense, really. I will make a note of it."

Quinn half expected her to actually pull out a notebook and jot it down on a character sheet. She didn't though and stayed silent while they waited for their turn at the bar.

Rachel reached for her fake id and readied to show it to the bartender.

"You won't need that," Quinn said. "It is what the bouncer is for. Plus they don't really care."

"Oh." The id went back into her purse.

There was only a narrow space available between occupied bar stools to order so Quinn crowded next to Rachel and placed her hand on her hip and leaned over her shoulder. "It's on her," she said and gestured to Rachel.

The bartender, a busty woman in a tank top, looked her way. "What do you want, sweetie?"

"I, ah, a ginger ale and—"

"Two Bloody Bitches," Quinn said.

The bartender nodded and moved to make them.

"That sounds rather graphic." Rachel gave Quinn a sidelong glance and the way she was invading her personal space.

Quinn didn't back off. "You'll like it. Trust me."

"Should you really be drinking? You are driving. Should _I_ really be drinking?" The last came out as an afterthought.

"I'm not driving now and I don't plan on getting drunk. Take your drink – it tastes like red."

"Judging by the name that's what I'm afraid of." Rachel paid the bartender and accepted the change back.

Quinn reached around her, grabbed a tip out of the change, and passed it across the bar. "That's for you. Sweetie."

They began weaving around people waiting for a chance to order, working past the dance floor to one of the small tables against the wall.

"I must say you are quite free with my money."

"Always tip your bartenders."

"So one of the ways to be badass is to treat the wait staff well?"

"They will look out for you, Rachel. Especially when you're in places like this alone."

From the corner of her eye, Quinn watched as she took a hesitant sip of her drink, blinked in surprise, and then took a deeper pull from the straw.

They settled at a small table away from the bar lines but in sight of the DJ station. The table and stools were high and Rachel had to tug at her hem when she sat. Quinn stared for a second and then glanced away.

The Runaway was busy for an early Friday night; she recognized some regulars but there was no one else from McKinley. A group of women were playing pool in the corner; Quinn caught the gaze of one of them and smiled.

Giving herself a little mental shake, Quinn looked away and noticed that Rachel's drink was half gone. "You should take it easy on that. There's real alcohol in it." She started to reach for a cigarette before she remembered where she was. "I'd rather not have you puke all over my car."

"I have no intention of doing that." She pushed the drink away slightly regardless. "Do you do this sort of thing often?"

"That sounded like a bad and horribly delivered pick up line."

Rachel gave her a look. "I just bought you a drink and we're at a table together – I've already picked you up. But for research I need to know."

Quinn shrugged. "I don't know. I guess."

"With the Skanks?"

Something in the tone of that question didn't sit well with her. "Does your character have a gang too?"

"No. She has friends." Rachel tipped her head and seemed to consider how she wanted the phrase her next question. "Are you happy, Quinn?"

Now she really wanted a cigarette. She glanced at the people walking around the club with the word staff written on the backs of their red shirts and wondered if they'd actually kick her out if she broke the law. Probably not.

"It's fine," Rachel said. "You don't have to answer."

"There had better be a play," Quinn said. "Because if you are just wasting my time, trying to shrink my head, I will end you at school and the entire glee club."

"I am indeed in a play. You won't have to trouble yourself destroying a club that would still welcome you back." Rachel held up her hand. "Sorry. That is the last I will mention you coming back – it just slipped out."

Ennis began spinning one of his long dance mixes. Quinn sat back, sipped her drink, and enjoyed the music. She began relaxing into the rhythm of it. Parts of performing, feeling the music like this, she did miss at times.

Across from her Rachel began singing along to the track. If she expected Quinn or anyone else in the club to join in she was going to be disappointed – it wasn't that sort of club tonight with Ennis in control. Even over the thump of the speakers, she could still make out Rachel's voice rising through the octaves and keeping perfect time.

She had also missed how good Rachel was at this.

Around them people began filling the dance floor. The lights, already low, dimmed until only flashing backlights showed silhouettes of bodies moving.

Rachel swallowed a mouthful of her drink and jumped to her feet. She held out a hand and gestured for Quinn to join her as she walked backward into the jumble of people.

Lucy Fabray would have stayed behind to watch that no one roofied their drinks; prom queen loser Quinn would never have been in this place to begin with; present Quinn accepted the invitation.

There were people all around her, pressing in and moving with the music. It flowed through Quinn, making her forget better than a joint chased with a bottle of vodka. Rachel was close enough that she could feel the heat of her body through her clothes.

Quinn slipped her hand around Rachel's waist and under her sweater just enough that her first two fingers felt bare skin.

Seeming not to notice, Rachel turned and raised her arms above her head. Underneath Quinn's hand her hips rolled. A third person cut between them and Quinn found herself facing the woman from the pool table and then felt a lot more of her when she took Quinn's arm and wrapped it around her midsection as she turned.

Quinn let her lead and determine the pace as they danced close, falling into the sensation and the way she caught glimpses of brown eyes looking back at her in the strobe light.

It wasn't hard to pretend, if she didn't focus too hard, that it was someone else moving with her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Was that closer to what you had in mind the first night?"

They were again outside Rachel's house. Quinn's car running in the driveway.

"Yes it was!" Rachel was still a little flushed and, Quinn guessed, tipsy. She'd done her best to make sure the alcohol consumption remained in the nice buzz territory and not next day hangover area. Rachel's tolerance wasn't very high though.

"Much better than the crackhouse."

Quinn laughed. "How about we switch to your indoor voice for now, huh? You have to be quiet sneaking back in."

"I have to go through the window." Rachel's eyes widened. "I had forgotten. What if I can't get back in?"

Oh Lord she was bad at this, Quinn thought. Even as a cardigan wearing churchgoer she'd had more skill at defying house rules.

"Do you have your keys?"

Rachel dug through her purse, slowly as though unsure what she would find. "I do."

"Then just go through the door." Quinn glanced through the windshield at the Berry household – all the lights were off and she doubted Hiram or LeRoy were waiting up to scold Rachel if they knew she'd left. They genuinely did trust Rachel to make good decisions.

Must be nice.

"But won't I lose some of the motivation cheating like that?"

"Tonight you bought a fake id, drank alcohol at an underground club, and danced with strangers. I think you've been plenty bad for one night."

"'Kay." Rachel's hand slipped from the handle once before she managed to pop the door and step onto the walk.

"Are you good to get in by yourself?" Quinn wondered if she was hamming it up a little or if alcohol just made her over-overexaggerate.

Rachel flashed her a thumbs up and closed the car door a little louder than she probably should have.

Sighing, Quinn got out and followed her.

Rachel smiled slowly. "Are you seeing me to my door?"

"No. I'm making sure you don't pass out on a few ounces of booze on the front lawn and drown when the sprinklers kick on in the morning and then I get slapped with a manslaughter charge." They started up the walk.

"It might help your street cred."

"My cred is fine."

"I've noticed. Even Santana would be proud." Rachel walked with her purse held in both hands, almost shyly.

Quinn glanced at her from the corner of her eye and wondered if she'd had too much to drink as well because it seemed so put on and theatrical.

They climbed the steps to the porch and Quinn stopped just short of the mat telling her welcome home and watched as Rachel unlocked the door.

"Can you, ah, get in okay?" Quinn didn't know why she asked that; the words came out before she could stop them. It was turning into the setup of a different kind of movie.

Rachel's lips quirked in a small smile. "I think I can manage, thank you." She suddenly came forward and hugged Quinn. "I really mean that. I learned a lot."

Quinn returned the hug for a second before stepping back. "It was your dime." Her gaze flicked inside for a second, looking for what she did not know. "Goodnight."

She pinched the bridge of her nose as she walked back to the car. Its engine still idling and running lights glowing. I am so stupid, she thought.

Quinn leaned against the hood and reached for a cigarette. She lit it and slipped the lighter back in her pocket. The warm smoke filled her lungs like an old friend saying hello. It held there for a sweet moment before she exhaled it out in one long breath.

After a few minutes the light in Rachel's bedroom window came on. Quinn stared as a shadow crossed the shaded window, paused, and then slipped back to the other way.

It was only a little perverted, she figured and took another drag. Maybe a hair more than a little.

Her ears were still ringing from the music in The Runaway and she was wide awake. It was only one in the morning – Rachel couldn't stay out very late because of a busy Saturday.

Briefly she considered going back to The Runaway. Maybe that girl from the pool table was still there. If not there were others. There were always others.

Quinn didn't move though. Deep down she really didn't want to. It was a long way back and probably not as much fun. Then she'd only feel worse.

Instead she smoked her cigarette down to the filter and then tossed it away. A few minutes later Rachel's light went off. Evidently being wound up wasn't a problem for her.

Pushing away from the car's hood with a foot against the front tire, Quinn climbed back in and pulled away from the Berry household.

She drove around for a while, until there were a couple more cigarette butts in her ashtray, and then went home.

* * *

Ringing from the nightstand woke her at dawn.

Kicking her way free of tangled sheets, Quinn clawed for the phone. "Yeah?"

"Are you awake?" Rachel.

"No. What do you want?"

"A favor."

Quinn looked at the glowing red numbers on her alarm clock, blinked away bleariness, and looked again. Seven in the morning. She tried to count back to the time she finally fell asleep and decided she really didn't want to know the exact number.

"Are you there? I need a big favor."

"What?"

"My car won't start and I have to get to rehearsal. I need a ride or a jump or something."

Quinn tugged at her blankets and pulled them over her head, leaving her feet exposed. "Call someone else."

"I tried. Kurt will take a look at it later but I need to get to the theater now and no one else can take me."

"Have your fathers take you."

"It is indoor farmer's market Saturday."

Of course it was. Quinn sighed and didn't say anything.

"Quinn? Please?"

"Fine. _Fine_." She kicked the blankets aside and squinted at the light coming in past pulled curtains. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Thanks! I'll mak—"

She hung up before Rachel could finish. A quick cold shower, hot cup of coffee, and piece of dry toast later she was backing out of her driveway and on the way to Rachel's. Grumbling the entire way, more angry at herself for agreeing than Rachel for asking.

Rachel was waiting next to her car when Quinn pulled along side the curb. The hood was up but she wasn't working under it; instead she leaned against the trunk, tapping her foot impatiently. When she saw Quinn she started hurrying down the walk, stopped halfway, then spun around and went back for a backpack sitting on the front seat of her car.

She was in mid conversation before she even climbed inside. "— so much. I will repay you a thousand times over for this. I know you—"

Quinn drove one handed and propped her head up against the door frame with the other. "Rachel. Headache."

"Oh. Sorry! Are you hungover? I knew you shouldn't have consumed alcohol last night. Or at least had several bottles of water afterward to counteract it. That is what I did."

"I'm not hungover. I had one drink hours before going home. I have a headache because it was nearly light out when I went to bed and it is barely light out now."

"Oh," she said again and then settled into merciful quiet. For about one minute. "I will buy you a coffee in town."

Quinn didn't bother telling her she already had coffee. Something hot, tall, free, and caffeinated sounded pretty good to her.

The roads were mostly empty because everyone else had the proper sense to still be in bed at this hour on a Saturday. Quinn navigated the highway a little faster than a police officer probably would have liked and took the exit they passed the previous night. She only had an inkling of the way to the theater but Rachel was more than happy to provide turn by turn directions. If Broadway didn't happen she'd make a good GPS voice.

The Squareround Playhouse was a very small theater set back behind a strip of outlet stores and restaurants. Converted from a church that in turn had been converted from an old movie theater it catered to the art inclined people of Lima that didn't want to drive the three hours to Cleveland. That of course meant the doors were shut more than they were open.

Quinn vaguely remembered some sort of Mark Twain tribute show that had played there when she was pregnant but it died a quick death under bad reviews. Framed posters hung along the outside of the boxy little building, many faded from age, that advertised various shows that had come and quietly gone over the years.

She didn't say it, but Rachel was better than this place. She was the one that wrote original songs by herself for the club to sing at Regionals, who could probably choreograph dance numbers for the entire school if she had to. The Squareround Playhouse was for the talentless or the has-beens that never made it out of Lima.

In the passenger seat, Rachel looked out the window at it like it was the first marquee to bear her name. That more than anything made Quinn mad.

There were a smattering of cars parked by the doors; Quinn swung into a parking space next to them and killed the engine. The ticket booth in front of them was closed and had a piece of notebook paper taped to it with the words 'Breath Against The Glass opening soon' scrawled on it.

Rachel gathered her backpack and started to leave. "You can come inside. Martin usually brings beverages and snacks – it will do until I can buy you a proper meal in repayment tonight."

"I don't—"

"The seating is also quite comfortable. You could sleep in the back row."

That sounded good.

"What sort of snacks?" Quinn asked, giving in.

Rachel showed her around the side of the theater – all the actors entered from the service door she explained proudly. She unlocked the utility entrance and ushered Quinn through.

Inside smelled like a strange combination of plywood and bathroom cleaner. It was dark and spacious and unnaturally still. Backstage areas should have frenzied activity and without it just felt wrong.

Memories of Regionals and Nationals came rushing back to Quinn. She hesitated, not sure she wanted to be here, but Rachel had already closed the door and was rushing past toward the stage. "Come on. I'll introduce you – everyone will love you."

Quinn didn't want to meet 'everyone'. She wanted the promised snacks, beverages, and sleep. Not necessarily in that order.

A group of people sat on the edge of the stage and in a few seats in the front row. Most were young, Quinn guessed in their twenties, with only a few in their teens and were overseen by an older man with a sizable midsection and a salt and pepper beard. Rachel's director, she guessed.

"Hey, everyone! Sorry I'm late. Car trouble." Rachel hurried out on stage, her flats sliding ever so slightly as she ran. "My good friend Quinn had to give me a lift."

Standing by the curtain, Quinn gave a little wave then glanced at the stairs leading to the auditorium. Maybe if she was quick she could make it before Rachel—

"Quinn, get over here and say hi."

Too late. She should never have given in to temptation and just stayed in the car.

Rachel did a complete circle as she made introductions. The older man was indeed the director, Martin of the provided beverage and snacks fame. Twin boys, not identical as Rachel pointed out, LJ and TJ handled most of the backstage work and also filled in several small roles. A teenage boy with dimples and a mop of dark curly hair named Patrick that Rachel introduced as her leading man. And a blonde girl named Lindsey that Rachel said was her leading lady.

There were more: Robert, Joanne, some guy that smelled like onions, Ethan or Nathan, and Allen. The names and faces started to blur together and Quinn didn't bother trying to remember them. She just muttered a "nice to meet you" and started again for the stairs.

"Right then," Rachel said, back on topic, "let's get to work." She opened her backpack and began pulling out scripts overstuffed with multicolored post notes. "I took the liberty of jotting down some individualized notes for all of you. Blue is for things we've added, pink for lines taken out, and yellow is general stage direction.

"I have some for you too, Martin…"

Quinn rolled her eyes as she disappeared into the shadows of the auditorium. Only Rachel would overtake even a rinky-dink performance like this one.

She took up position toward the rear of the theater, kicking back in one of the plush red seats. On stage Rachel and the rest of the cast began going over the notes and running new lines, debating the advantage of one over another.

It was like that in glee too – the boring mundane work of getting a song or dance step just right. Martin tried his best but Rachel seemed determined to lead from the front. She spoke about each character and their motivation like she was intimately familiar with every role in the play.

Quinn had never heard of it before but she didn't put it past Rachel to have read every line in the script as though she had to say it herself. She could probably understudy for everyone in the cast if she had to.

They were doing scenes out of order, and only rehearsing them loosely, so it was hard to follow the plot or even grasp the idea behind it.

The main characters were friends living in New York – this she gathered from the mentions of Broadway – all trying to find their big break in different businesses. Patrick's character was a singer in a band and Allen was his best friend. Lindsey was a sculptor or painter– it was hard to tell catching only snippets of dialogue – trying to get her work into a gallery. Her best friend, Joanne, was a playwright or author.

They weren't just rehearsing, Quinn saw, but were workshopping areas of the script that were still raw. She figured that was also why Rachel had taken notes on everyone's roles. It was interesting and seemed surprisingly good given the venue. She began to fade once Rachel and Martin started debating scene blocking. Rachel favored one set of blocking that showed off her best side to the audience.

Quinn closed her eyes and felt herself drifting. Maybe she would sneak down and watch the play when it opened. It wasn't a big theater but she could hide from the glee club when they showed up – if they showed. She wasn't sure of the most recent internal politics of the club or if Rachel was on the ins or outs at the moment.

Quinn knew that was usually subject to change at a moment's notice.

She wasn't aware she'd fallen asleep until a hand started gently shaking her. "Quinn?"

Opening her eyes, Quinn found Rachel sitting on the seat next to her with one leg tucked under the other. "Huh?"

"I will try not to take you falling asleep during my performance personally since I know you lead a nocturnal lifestyle now." Rachel held out a paper cup sheathed in a heat sleeve and a pastry wrapped in a napkin. "I saved these for you. I will still repay you properly but I figured it was a start."

"Thanks." Quinn sat up stiffly and sipped the coffee. "How long was I asleep?"

"Hard to say but at least a couple of hours."

Up front the stage was empty, as was the front row.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah. The cast and I have to clean up after rehearsal as part of our agreement with the theater staff but I sent everyone home a little while ago."

"Oh." The pastry was stale but her empty stomach was happy with whatever it could get. "Sorry."

"It's fine. I know everyone would have loved to talk to you though. I've told them all about you."

Great. More people that knew about the formerly knocked up Christian turned punk. "Maybe next time," Quinn said without enthusiasm.

"I hope so!" Rachel said, missing the point. "I would love it if you attended another rehearsal, but awake this time."

Stale or not, Quinn had finished the pastry and half the cup of coffee by the time Rachel jumped to her feet and started back for the stage. "I'll be right back!"

Quinn watched as she bounced up the side stairs and across the stage. It was a sharp contrast to how she normally was when fighting for a New Directions victory – here she was happy and at home without the intense pressure to win. It wasn't hard to imagine her doing this on a bigger stage in the near future once she made it out of Lima.

Quinn reached for a cigarette and reluctantly thought better of it. The theater people wouldn't appreciate it and Rachel would probably get in trouble.

She pushed to her feet and walked down the aisle, picturing the seats around her full of people. "When do you open? I didn't notice the sign."

"A little over a month from now." Rachel began tucking set pieces out of sight behind the curtain. "It isn't much time, I know, but we're working hard. Maybe if it does well we will do a third week of shows."

Quinn's gaze slid from one side to the other as Rachel fast walked across the stage. "You weren't kidding about a limited run."

That seemed to still her good mood slightly. "No. But I suppose it is the best we can hope for around here. At least a little bit of culture will come to our town. And it is a wonderful opportunity for the playwright to see their words performed, albeit on a small scale." She disappeared behind the curtain.

A stack of post it notes lay on the edge of the stage, clipped together, and Quinn reached for them and began flipping through the stack. Most were lines of dialogue with several words scratched out and replaced with others. There was some minor stage direction as well, with notes on best sides and lighting issues for the theater.

She wondered if Rachel had actually picked seats at random to study what sort of view they had of the performance.

The overhead lights suddenly snapped off leaving the only illumination coming from backstage. Quinn slipped the notes into her pocket and felt along the stage edge for the stairs.

"Sorry." Rachel's head poked back around the curtain. "I forgot how dark it can get out there without the mains on. Here." She pulled the curtain back enough to light Quinn's way. "I'm ready by the way if you are. I believe I owe you a proper thank you for taking time to drive me. Hungry?"

A slice of dry toast and the pastry were the only things she'd had since the night before that wasn't liquid based. She nodded. "Sure, but we don't have to go anywhere. We can just call it even with the fritter."

"Nonsense. I know from personal experience that vegan fare in this part of town is severely lacking so I know just the thing…"

* * *

"I'm not sure about this."

"Quit fussing." For the second time in just a few hours, Quinn watched as Rachel unlocked a door and showed her inside. "I've been allowed to have friends over unsupervised since long before I even had friends to have over."

Quinn walked over the threshold and into the Berry home. It was quiet, the heads of the house still at their indoor farmer's market apparently. Or whatever the Berrys did for entertainment in their off time – Quinn honestly had no clue.

If Rachel was any indication it was talk about an upcoming performance, current song stuck as an earworm, upcoming performances of favorite entertainers, and the present musical movie lineup on TCM. On repeat.

Rachel followed close behind and tossed her keys, both the house and theater sets, in a bowl by the door. "Would you like something to drink? We have water, juice, tea, coffee, two different kinds of diet soda – daddy won't mind if you have some – and—"

"Water is fine." Quinn looked around. She'd been to the Berry house several times with the club but it felt weird without the group.

There were several new pictures of Rachel and her family among the dozens already lined on shelves and tables. A couple, she saw, with Rachel in her original song costume. She was smiling and alive with their victory and her long fought song writing achievement.

Rachel tossed her backpack on the couch as she walked past. "Make yourself at home."

Quinn tipped her head as she studied another group of photos. They were years old and showed Hiram and LeRoy next to a young Rachel. One could follow each shelf down and find talent show win after dance competition victory. After each one were proud parents beaming at the camera.

It didn't escape her notice that they seemed to be her only support from a very young age to nearly the end of high school. But they were constant and always seemed overjoyed for their daughter.

Quinn stared and couldn't help but think of Russel and then Beth.

"Would you like ice?" Rachel's voice carried from the kitchen. "Also we have bottled water as well as filtered tap. Do you have a preference?"

Giving herself a shake, Quinn broke away from the memory shrine and walked into the kitchen. "Tap is fine. No ice."

"'Kay." Rachel slipped a band from her wrist and twisted her hair back in a quick ponytail as she moved with practiced grace between the refrigerator and island workstation. "I know vegan isn't your first choice, or second really, but I think you'll like this. We used to make this all the time when I was little. Dad came up with the recipe and always keeps premade supplies on hand."

Using a wet rag, she wiped the island down and then turned toward the refrigerator. A big bowl filled with rice and topped with a clear lid came out first followed by several jars of seasoning. Next were more lidded containers with hastily scrawled labels stuck on. Rachel deposited them all on the counter and knocked the refrigerator door closed with her ankle.

Quinn leaned against the island and tried to read the lids upside down. She sipped water and was grateful for it – her mouth was dry.

Rachel began opening cabinets, looking for something and not finding it. By the third one she pulled out a dark sealed bag and then returned to the island, producing a bamboo rolling mat from an unseen drawer on her side of the island.

"Nori?" Quinn smiled.

"Of course." Rachel pulled the clear lid off the big bowl and sprinkled a little rice vinegar over the contents. Next she rinsed her hands and spread a nori sheet over the bamboo mat. Mixing the rice with her bare hand, she lifted some out and began spreading it over the sheet. Her fingers made small indentations as she pressed the rice into a stable shape.

She sprinkled precooked and cut vegetables from one of the other containers over the rice and then gently rolled the bamboo. Wetting the far end of the roll with her free hand, Rachel folded the top over and sealed it. The mat went to one side and she reached for a towel to dry her hands. A quick chop of a kitchen knife later and Quinn was looking at a handful of vegan sushi.

"Wow."

"What?" Rachel set the knife aside and began transferring the cut pieces to a small plate.

"I've never seen someone make sushi that wasn't wearing a chef's coat and throwing a knife in the air."

"Your parents never cooked with you for fun?"

Quinn shrugged. "We went to restaurants as a family."

Rachel gestured for her. "Come here."

Setting her glass aside, Quinn walked around the island.

"Wash your hands but don't dry them. You need to keep the sheet wet and keep the rice from sticking to your hand."

Quinn looked at her doubtfully for a second and then did as instructed. She took up position behind the workstation with Rachel stepping to the side to let her in. Lifting a nori sheet from the package, she spread it over the bamboo and reached for the rice.

Using both hands, she scooped rice and dropped it on the sheet.

Rachel snickered.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No. It's just a lot. You are going to want it on the part closest to you, not the middle. Here, let me show you." She stepped in close and slipped her arms around Quinn.

Quinn froze, her fingers still buried in rice.

"Just slide it back like this." Rachel took her hands and pulled them back, drawing the scoops of rice to the edge of the sheet.

Quinn swallowed past a dry throat. She didn't remember anything like this from the Food Network. Finn would probably be a much better cook if they had a show featuring this kind of cooking. So would she.

Rachel's breath was warm against her neck and she could feel Rachel's breasts pressed against her back as she stretched to see over Quinn's shoulder. "Now pack it gently, you don't want a solid block."

Quinn did her best. "Like that?"

"It's good. Now—"She put a hand on Quinn's waist and leaned forward to reach the other open containers—"take the spinach and spread it over the top."

This was definitely … something that Quinn couldn't identify. Was Rachel flirting? No, she corrected, Rachel was seducing. And doing a very good job of it.

Trying to remind herself that she wasn't shy Lucy any longer, Quinn finished putting together the roll. It wasn't as neat looking as Rachel's had been and overflowed with rice and vegetables. She began to fold the bamboo over.

"Wet your fingers first before you do that." Rachel's voice was right next to her ear.

Apparently God didn't hold any grudges about her skipping church because He was back in the prayer answering business.

Going to the sink would have meant breaking contact so Quinn used the wet towel to moisten her fingertips. Dimly she was surprised that Rachel didn't complain about breaking the health code.

"Dab the far edge so you can seal it and then begin rolling the bamboo away from yourself, be careful that you don't get the bamboo lip under the roll. Press nice and firm."

She planned on it. There was too much rice she saw while trying to get the top over. The spinach held some of it down but a lot of it fell out the front before she could tuck the lip over. It was stuffed and rice fell out the ends and over the workspace.

Quinn didn't care.

Rachel reached past her and rolled the bamboo a couple of times and then pulled it away. "There! All done. Not bad for your first effort – congratulations." Taking the bamboo mat she stepped away and began rinsing it in the sink.

"I – huh?" Quinn looked around in confusion. She felt the absence acutely of Rachel's body pressed against her. Rachel casually washed the mat and then draped it over the dish rack to dry. "Oh … I'm so stupid."

"What?"

"I said it's stupid." Quinn grabbed the knife and chopped the roll into uneven pieces. "The roll."

"Nonsense." Rachel dried her hands. "The only way you get perfect is to practice, so says daddy. Now plate those up and let's eat. I'll get the soy sauce."

Quinn no longer felt very hungry but she ate anyway. The sushi was good in a its vegan but still food kind of way.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Rachel chimed in with, "I know you didn't see much of it, but do you have any thoughts about the play? You could be our first test audience."

Quinn hesitated. She really hadn't seen or been able to follow enough to offer much of a review. Judging from her expression, Rachel was looking for more than just praise for her acting skill. "That guy playing your love interest seemed good."

"Oh yes. Patrick is quite talented. He has a fine singing voice too – it is a shame we don't actually get to see his character perform with his band. There just wasn't time for music and lyrics," she added as an afterthought. "How about Lindsey? Did you find her believable as my lesbian girlfriend?"

Quinn paused with sushi halfway to her mouth. "What?"

"Didn't you know that? Oh dear." Rachel looked horror stricken. "Maybe our subtext in act one is too sub? Our characters don't kiss until the beginning of the second act – maybe we should try to adjust that?"

Soy sauce dripped down Quinn's hand and stained the cuff of her shirt. "What?" she said again. "You said that other guy was your love interest."

"He is." Rachel's brow furrowed and she passed Quinn a napkin. "My character is hardly monogamous, you see, so Patrick and Lindsey get to share leading person distinction. Funny side note, Allen and I have even worked up a cute little back story where our characters had a fling. Purely physical of course because my character is incapable of forming stable emotional attachments and seeks only the endorphin rush of repeated orgasmic release."

"Uh-huh." Quinn set her plate aside and wiped her mouth with the napkin. "Well … that's, um—"

Thankfully the front door opened and saved her from having to elaborate on a train of thought she was still trying to process. Hiram Berry walked in with canvas bags filled with produce over each arm. "Hey, honey!"

Rachel jumped to her feet and rushed to greet him. Giving him a kiss on the cheek she relieved him of one bag. "Wow. Good harvest."

"You don't know the half of it. LeRoy has more in the car." He noticed Quinn climbing to her feet and quickly waved her down. "Don't get up. My word that is an interesting shade of pink."

Quinn touched her hair. She was suddenly overwhelmed by the number of Berrys staring at her and needed freedom. "I actually have to go. Thank you for the food, Rachel." She began backing away from the table.

Hurt look number six two four flashed across Rachel's face. "Go? Do you have to? I thought we could hang out in my room for a while. Maybe you could even join us for a little family fun musical theater later."

Quinn blinked and nearly bumped into LeRoy on his way to the kitchen, loaded down with bags. "Invite her for dinner, Rachel. We'll have so much vegan paella we could sell it on the street."

Hiram followed his husband. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Did I do something wrong?" Rachel asked quietly.

"No, no." Quinn wanted to get out of this situation and back to the real world. "I really have to go. Someone has to make sure Judy doesn't cross her morning pills with her afternoon liquor."

"Oh … okay." Rachel started to walk her out. "Again I appreciate you taking me to the theater. I just wish I could have paid you back better."

"You certainly made the day interesting." Quinn was relieved to see the Berrys hadn't blocked her car in. There would be no getting out of vegan paella then.

"Well, goodbye." Rachel came forward and gave her a squeezing hug.

The air left Quinn's lungs in a huff and she stumbled back a step.

Rachel then reached up to kiss Quinn's cheek just as she was starting to turn her head away from the hug and Rachel's lips ended up half on Quinn's mouth and half on her chin. Quinn was pretty sure that general area tasted like soy sauce.

It was the awkward crown on top of an awkward day.

Quinn did her best not to hurry to her car. The engine had barely turned over before she had the car in reverse and rolling toward the street.

As soon as she was clear, Quinn opened all the windows and took several deep breaths. She smoked a cigarette down to the filter and then smoked another.

Sweet Jesus, she thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

She lied in saying that Judy needed monitoring with her pills and alcohol. In truth she was an expert at both by now and could fly solo in more ways than one.

It was late afternoon by the time Quinn finally returned home. She bypassed any interaction with her mother and fled upstairs. She ran a shower and leaned against the tiles as the water flowed over her head and cascaded down. Pink hair clung to her eyelashes.

She was a fool. A stupid, stupid fool.

Crap like this was why she never wanted to return to glee. Confusion and mixed signals from every direction almost drove her crazy before and she wasn't going to let it have a second chance. Or third. It was Rachel, she was the source. It always came back to her somehow. Quinn should have listened to her instincts and never agreed to the lessons or whatever they were. A ploy to get her back into the club would have been better than…

Quinn inhaled and let the breath out slowly. Lamaze was good for many things. Humiliation and anger, at herself mostly, pooled in the pit of her stomach and she forced it to hardened to stone. She held it there, fostering it as it grew. Quinn's fingernails scraped along the shower tiles, leaving drag marks in the collected mist there. When she couldn't take it any longer she released it all at once and felt the tension leave her body.

She stayed like that, leaning against the wall, until the water began to run cold. Quickly washing before the warmth disappeared all together, she turned off the water and stepped out into the steam filled bathroom.

Swiping a hand across the mirror, Quinn cleared it and stared at her reflection. Pink hair, nose ring, and a couple of light years removed from Lucy Caboosey. She traced the faint marks across her abdomen, the only thing she had left of Beth, that were unnoticeable to anyone but her.

The tension was gone but the loneliness she'd never been able to shake through all her incarnations remained.

Turning away from her reflection, Quinn dressed and readied herself to go out. In her room she grabbed her phone, ignored a voicemail from Rachel, and called one of the Skanks.

"Yo?"

"We're going out to The Runaway. Let everyone know. And someone needs to pick me up, I don't care who, because I'm not driving tonight."

"Okay, cool. I think it is Freakin' Sal's turn to designate."

"That's fine." Quinn hung up without pleasantries and tossed her phone on the bed. She left it there and pulled her stash down from its hiding place on a shelf. Pocketing a couple of joints for the rest of the girls, Quinn lit one up for herself and snapped the lighter closed. It took a while for the buzz to come on but just the motion of smoking was relaxing.

Time slowed down and her thoughts didn't feel quite as sharp in her skull. She smiled and exhaled. Life would have been easier on good church girl Quinn if she'd done this at least once. There were a lot of things that Quinn should have done, she knew. And most of them were probably going to happen tonight. No matter now – that Quinn was stuck behind the mirror along with Lucy.

Sal pulled up in her family's SUV and honked the horn once. Even with the windows up, Quinn could see it was full of Skanks. There was a joke in that Puck would probably appreciate, she figured. Quinn left her phone behind and joined them.

Margaret had stolen a bottle of JD from her parents and judging by the smell inside the car it had already made the rounds between the front seat and back a couple of times. Between that and the weed Quinn provided everyone, save for Sal, was feeling pretty good by the time they reached The Runaway.

It was a jumping Saturday night and Ennis had one of his long disco sets going. Of course he did. The Skanks hit the floor with Ronda leading the chant for shots. Quinn felt powerful and free for the first time in days walking with them. They were her people now and great to have behind her in a fight, collectively almost as good as having Santana behind her. This was her world and she deserved to enjoy it however she wanted.

The tequila went down hot and made tears appear in her eyes. She laughed through them and upturned the glass.

People around her cheered and Quinn signaled for another round. The Skanks always drew attention and she enjoyed the gazes of the little boys of this world that thought they stood a chance with her. If only, if only. It was good to be queen again.

Leaving the pack behind, Quinn slid onto the dance floor and began moving with the beat of absurd music. This wasn't like when she was here with Rachel, no need to protect a delicate flower or talk if she didn't want to. And she didn't. Alcohol went in and she sweated it out against strangers grinding on the dance floor.

Like those boys at the bar she had a gaze too; unlike them she knew how to get what she wanted. A little mousy brunette caught her attention after a couple of hours at the club. She was with a friend at a table but at that point Quinn didn't really care.

On the dance floor mousy didn't move with years of training, her eyes were a bit too close together, and she smelled like pretentious perfume. All things Quinn could overlook.

Later, outside and behind the club, when she pressed the woman with the name she failed to get against the wall and slipped her tongue inside an eager mouth Quinn could almost forget about the day.

* * *

There was a massive fight in the music room the next Monday. Santana stormed out with Brittany following close behind in perpetual solidarity.

No one outside the club knew why, just that Berry and Santana got into it over something.

The school buzzed with gossip and tried to guess why the Cheerio co-captain nearly came to blows with the glee co-captain.

It was, Quinn reflected, a typical week for McKinley.

Even the Skanks weighed in.

"I heard the cheerleader slept with Finn again," one of them said over smokes behind the school. "The annoying gnome had it coming."

"Nah, she's in the trim now. Heard she always was - ain't that right, Quinn?"

"Yeah. You wore the red and white with her. Ever personally confirm that rumor?"

Quinn answered with a blank stare that eventually wore down the other woman's smirk.

"Never mind anyway."

"Finn ain't with either of them, not even the freakin' midget. Heard he was thinking of joining the Army Rangers or something. Imagine that."

Quinn remained silent as they talked, doing her best to follow what they said without appearing interested. It was sad that her only source of gossip was Freakin' Sal now.

"No thank you. Wouldn't want to spend my best years with some freakin' ragheads shooting at me."

Quinn didn't really like the idea of Finn doing that either. It was doubtful he had anything to do with the glee club fight though – it had been a while but she still knew everyone well enough to guess that. More likely Rachel had asked Santana for advice on her current role, no doubt bringing Santana's personal life into the debate.

Quinn blew smoke out her nose and snuffed her cigarette against her boot heel.

"You okay over there, boss? Haven't said much."

"I have no opinion on them," Quinn said. "They can do what they want."

Sal was apparently feeling brave. "Yeah, we don't just mean about that. You've been really weird since last week."

Ronda tossed her cigarette away too. "We figured that little piece you picked up the other night would have snapped you back to normal. She was your usual type."

The Skanks were among the most feared at the school. The Cheerios could ruin someone socially, make them have to leave town and switch schools with just a few comments, but the Skanks could ruin someone's face for life. Forget a new school, they'd make sure someone would have to wear a mask and become a recluse. No one willingly tangled with a Skank if they could avoid it.

The look Quinn gave them caused them all to physically go back a step.

"Easy, boss. We're just curious."

"It's called taking an interest. Jeez."

"Yeah chill the freak out." Sal squeaked when Quinn brushed past her.

"I'm going to be late for class. So will you if you aren't careful."

They wisely left her alone after that. She wasn't sure what was more ludicrous, the idea that she had some sort of type or that the Skanks thought they knew it. They didn't know anything about her. No one did and she preferred it that way.

Later she found Santana in the Cheerio locker room. Sue wasn't around and the younger kids were too scared of Quinn to tell her to leave and the older students knew better than to try.

She leaned against Brittany's locker and watched as Santana put one foot up on the bench beside her and began knotting the laces on her sneaker.

"Knew you'd come crawling back one day."

"Hardly." From the corner of her eye Quinn noticed the other cheerleaders giving them the room. Smart of them. "You want to talk about it?"

"No."

Quinn pushed away and started to leave. "Okay then. Never mind."

"Wait. Put out some effort why don't you?"

She stopped and looked back. They had privacy now; anything said wouldn't go further than the shower drains. "Did you leave glee?"

"Nah. It puts a smile on Britt's face so I'll go back for her."

A test pattern would probably put a smile on her face, Quinn thought but didn't say it. She knew the club gave Santana much needed acceptance. Instead she said, "Everything okay with … you know."

"Yeah. It will be. How about with you?"

Quinn shrugged and knew better than to try to play Santana cool. "I get by."

"So I hear." Santana zipped up her jacket and shouldered her bag. "On that note … and I know it isn't my business … but whatever you have going on with Berry don't let it screw the club up, okay? You're not in it but we still have a shot of winning and we could all use a win after last year."

"I don't have anything going with Berry." That was so deep in the truth there was no need to check herself.

A perfectly trimmed eyebrow arched.

"Honestly."

"Well you might want to check with her about that."

"Why?" A warning prickle went down Quinn's neck. "What did she tell the group?"

"Nothing." Santana shrugged and as though it explained everything said, "She sang Take Me Home Tonight."

"I doubt she was singing about me," Quinn said. "She conned me into doing something with her play."

"Oh God." Santana rolled her eyes. "She won't shut up about that thing! We didn't have to put up with this even when she wrote those songs. It can't open and close in shameful disgrace fast enough for me."

Quinn had a feeling she'd been dead on about the fight in the music room. Maybe that meant Rachel had moved on to other sources of inspiration. "I fell asleep through part of it."

"You saw it?"

"I … it's a long story and not what you think."

"Isn't it always?" Santana looked suddenly wistful. "You could come by the house sometime, you know? Brittany would like it if you did that."

"I know she would. Maybe I will."

Santana shifted her bag to the other shoulder. She looked around the locker room. "We had some good times here, huh? The three of us."

Not really. Not over the internal politics of Cheerios and the external politics of high school. And the pressure of being the best, the prettiest, the ideal. Beth and then crawling back to the top only to fall yet again.

"Yeah," Quinn said, "we did."

* * *

The rest of the week passed normally for McKinley High. There were a grand total of three song and dance numbers through the halls and cafeteria so that meant the glee club kissed and made up. They were back to learning Schuester's lessons of the week via lyrics and dance steps.

Like the rest of the student body, Quinn had grown used to it. The gossip mill continued to turn and moved to new targets. She ignored most of those because she genuinely didn't care about them. A freshman seen sneaking around with a junior was below even her newfound social status.

The Skanks moved on too and followed her lead by keeping their noses out of the latest news.

Quinn kept her head down and turned her schoolwork in on time. She didn't let the fact get out, but she was still a good student. One could rebel against authority and still read a book - anarchy didn't mean stupidity. Plus good grades kept Judy out of her dyed hair. High marks meant she didn't have to talk to a therapist about her 'life choices' again.

And it meant she just might get out of this stupid town too come graduation.

"Party this weekend," Margaret said as they made their way to class one day. "Stallion's hosting. You down?"

"You guys go ahead," Quinn told her. "I'm going to be sick this weekend."

Freakin' Sal looked ready to say something in answer to that but thought better of it at the last second.

"If you get bored painting your toenails or whatever and want out of your funk give me a call," Margaret said. "I'm designated next. Catch you later, Q."

"Bye."

By Thursday she started getting texts from Rachel. That alone was strange enough.

_Just wanted to say again that I had fun on our last little adventure._

Then two hours after that:

_Even if you didn't?_

Four hours later:

_I'm sorry if you didn't have fun_.

If there was an emoticon for hurt expression number five two seven it would have accompanied her text. Even through pixels on a touch screen Rachel could make her feel like she'd just kicked her imaginary dog. Quinn finally sent back:

_It was fine. I enjoyed parts of it._

That got nothing back for several long minutes and Quinn figured that was the end of their unusual talk. Then a smiley face appeared. Followed by two more over the next four hours.

Quinn wondered if Rachel set some sort of timer to respond to texts, as though she considered it proper to wait an allotted time. She shook her head at that line of thought.

Friday brought several more friendly texts throughout the day. Quinn didn't answer, wasn't sure if they even needed one, and it didn't provoke a hurt reaction.

She felt caught up in some sort of game and didn't care one bit for it. Games were the specialty of old Quinn and then only when she could write the rules.

Their social circles remained apart and they only saw each other in class. Rachel was usually with Kurt or one of the other club members. Skanks normally skipped so Quinn didn't have any backup. Rachel apparently felt their agreement was still in place however because she never openly acknowledged their nights out while in front of fellow glee members, even when several fresh texts sat on Quinn's phone.

As Quinn stood underneath the bleachers, sharing a smoke with Puck, listening as people went home for the week she said, "You know there is a simplicity to what men like you want that is refreshing if not appealing to me."

He thought that over and then nodded. "Can't argue there."


	5. Interlude

**Interlude**

Santana's words, though delivered in anger, had truth in them. It was time to stop playing. In life and in acting drastic action was required at times. When faced with the unknown, or the feared, it was sometimes necessary to jump in with both feet.

This was what I was taught and how I have gone about creating my characters. Now my character was going to have to give a little back to me. It was essential I cross this one last boundary if I was to get what I wanted.

I just hoped it didn't send me on a dark spiral that so many young starlets have fallen down leaving me washed up on the banks of the Doctor Drew's Institute for Drug and Sex Addiction.

Confident that Sir Laurence Olivier would understand even if my fathers did not, I drove my mechanically sound car toward the lower side of Lima's suburbs.

Granted it did look different during the daylight. The homes didn't seem as scary or like they housed murders and pedophiles. In fact I saw several faces from around the halls of McKinley walking home from school with backpacks slung over their shoulders.

What wonders, I thought. I had unsavory connections all this time and never knew.

It was hard to find due to a lack of address and only my memory of the first night in Quinn's car to go on – I'd had other things on my mind that night – but after going down several dead ends I found the correct home. Pulling into the driveway as Quinn had done, I studied all the blinds and curtains belonging to street facing windows in the houses around me. None moved to spy on me and I didn't see any dark vans like the police used in procedural dramas.

Making sure I had all my self-defense items, I left my car locked and with the alarm set. A dog barked several doors down and I nearly jumped back inside.

I took a deep breath, centered myself, and found my character. She was strong and confident and had probably done this sort of thing all the time. In fact I was sure she had.

Using Quinn as inspiration, I followed the little path around the garage as she had done. I knocked on the apartment door and when Isaac cracked it open I said, "I wish to make a transaction."

It took a second for realization to dawn on his face. "Oh, it's the uncool friend. So glad you came back." Regardless he opened the door fully. "Come in."

"You should know I am armed with pepper spray and I have concealed on my person a quite loud and shrill rape alarm."

"Good for you. Come in."

He was dressed in green scrubs and barefoot. On the tv was one of those combat games Finn always had a preference for. The screen was red with the word 'dead' flashing over and over. It was not very comforting.

"Wait!"

Isaac stopped halfway to his product cabinet and looked back, confused.

"Perhaps you should lift your shirt."

He blinked. "Do I need to get my rape alarm?"

"So I know you aren't wired," I explained. "Before any incriminating words are spoken."

"Why would I be wearing a wire? You would."

I scoffed at him. "I'm not lifting my shirt for you."

"Yeah well neither am I so I guess we both just have to deal." He smiled at his own pun. "So what do you want? Same as your friend Quinn?"

It occurred to me then that in all the cannabis research I'd done online I had failed to learn the proper terminology. I didn't even know if there were certain name brands that I should ask for. "Um, not exactly. I need three grams please."

He laughed a little but it seemed non threatening. "Okay … Did you bring your own scale or should I just use mine?"

Had I committed some sort of drug deal faux pas by not bringing a scale? They didn't show that on Law and Order and I had yet to finish all of The Wire. "I'll trust yours."

He held up a little baggie and named a price. "I'll give you the friend of Quinn discount with a small surcharge added because thanks to her you know where I am."

"That sounds both fair and reasonable."

After a few moments of just standing there, Isaac looked at me expectantly. "At some point we are going to have to trade."

"Oh money, right." I turned around so he wouldn't see in my purse and get any ideas.

We exchanged money for merchandise and I felt a lightheaded rush. I had just bought drugs! Legal in several states yes but not this one.

Isaac frowned at me. "You don't want a receipt, do you?"

I knew he was joking. I'm not an idiot. "No, that will be fine. Thank you. I'm sure you will make an excellent doctor one day."

"Well that's the plan. Normally I tell customers to come back soon but … you know."

I did.

"Oh hey, Quinn's friend."

I stopped and looked back at him.

"Be careful with that stuff there, okay? I mean it is safe and all but you don't really seem the type."

That was part of the problem. I didn't _seem_ the type enough for anyone, least of all Quinn. "I will, Mr. Isaac."

Back in my car I drove around the neighborhood several times before I was sure an unmarked police car wasn't following me. I was ready to ditch my newfound contraband at a moment's notice.

Next I stopped at the supermarket and bought the rest of the ingredients I would need for the weekend. I had a carefully folded recipe Google provided before I deleted the search history and cleared the browser cookies. Twice. Finding a vegan equivalent hadn't been as hard as I'd feared.

Twilight had fully settled in by the time I returned home. I kept the cannabis tucked firmly in my backpack and acted as normal around my fathers as I could. Neither of them suspected I had not only gone through what many teens felt was a right of passage but also committed a misdemeanor.

Now for the next phase of my plan.


	6. Chapter 5

**Additional Author's Notes**: I'm giving a heads up here that in this chapter there are events of an intimate nature that take place under the influence of a controlled substance. This was not written with the intent of being dub con and, in my mind when I wrote it and again rereading it, the effects have worn off to the point for both parties that they are able to give consent. Also at no point in future chapters do any of the characters indicate they were anything less than willing. That said I believe it is better to over warn rather than to under warn so I'm giving an additional note here in case that situation might be triggering to any readers.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Judy had a church social function to attend so that meant Quinn had the house to herself. Officially they called it a support group for those facing the hard difficulties of life. Really it was a back room where single parents got together and felt sorry for themselves over coffeecake and prayer.

Divorce was a sin so they had to pretty it up the best way they could. It was adults leaning on one another during 'difficulties'. Because Judy's particular church believed in overlooking sin as long as the sinner prettied it up and hid it the best way they could.

God bless.

Quinn fixed her own dinner of cold cereal and milk and ate it by herself. It was nice and familiar being on her own. She'd already finished school assignments for Monday and no parent meant no need to sneak out if she wanted to party.

Judy would probably keep to form and offer to stay late and help clean up after the meeting. Conveniently chatting up the newly divorced men while doing so. She wouldn't be home for a while. Old Quinn might have held purview over games but she came by it honestly.

Quinn considered taking Margaret up on her offer to take her to Stallion's party but there were going to be McKinley students there and she'd had enough of them during the week. The Runaway didn't sound like a bad idea though.

As she dressed to leave, restlessness began building under her skin. She wanted something different … something she didn't know what. Maybe it was talking to Santana again this week, really talking to her, that made her miss the connection the three of them had once.

She checked the time on her phone and then the empty inbox.

Grabbing a joint from her stash, Quinn started on her way. She was already eager for music that made it impossible to hear and the way thumping bass made her skin ache.

She was halfway down the street when her phone lit up on the passenger seat. Grabbing it one handed, she read the screen. It was from Rachel.

_I need some company, a guardian angel._

Quinn frowned. That was new and did not make any kind of sense. She typed back a one word question and then pulled off to the side of the road. The car sat idling. If Rachel was going to do her two hour to answer thing then—

_You wanna prowl, be my night owl?_

Realization began to dawn. It didn't make much more sense but at least Quinn was beginning to understand the language of the land she'd somehow wandered into. She put the car in park and texted back:

_Are you quoting song lyrics to me? Why?_

Rachel: _I wonder what you're doing in the night out there?_

Quinn: _Are you okay?_

Rachel: _Why don't you come play with me and bring me to the other side?_

Quinn stared at her phone until the power saver turned the screen off. Then she unlocked it and stared at it until it went dark again.

Someone must have stolen Rachel's phone and were sitting in front of a lyric search engine messing with her. Whoever it was obviously didn't care about his or her life. She was still trying to think of how to respond when the phone buzzed in her hand.

_I'm serious. Play back, Quinn_.

She thought hard for a second and sent:

_Somewhere in the lonely night, your flame is burning bright_.

Rachel: _I'm ready to accept your point of view. It's up to you_.

Asked and answered. One Streisand lyric for another without any search engine waiting. It was really Rachel.

She tapped a fingernail against the side of her phone for a second and then wrote:

_And now I'm stuck still and wondering how it's meant to be_.

Rachel: _We are shining, and we'll never be afraid again_.

Quinn started to write one thing then erased it and sent a different message before she could lose her nerve. It was the closest she'd ever gotten to a grand declaration about anything.

_I feel like my words have only given way to brief intentions but no intent for action_.

Rachel: _My absence meant more than this_.

Then also from her before Quinn could respond: _And I've been taking chances, I've been setting myself up for the fall, I've been keeping secrets_.

Quinn: _Tell me what you want to be, and don't hide it from me_.

Rachel: _High heels off, I'm feeling alive_.

Quinn frowned. Hoping for something different. Her phone buzzed quickly again.

_Come a little closer, as the night gets older_.

Thinking maybe she shouldn't have wished for something different, her thumbs quickly typed out:

_Your place or mine?_

_Both_.

* * *

She found Rachel waiting once more on the curb. Bundled but without a thermos this time. Rachel leaned back with her elbows on the walk, staring up at the night sky. She bounced to her feet when Quinn's headlights cut across the lawn.

When Rachel didn't make any moves to get in the car, Quinn climbed out.

"'You found me under the streetlight on Eighth Avenue,'" Rachel quoted. "I snuck out my window."

"You've already used that song; it's against the rules." Quinn put her hands in her pockets and shook her head. "This is weird even for you, Rachel."

"Not making any sense." She giggled because it came close to the next lyric. Swaying side to side, she began to dance to a song only she could hear.

Quinn gaped at her and tried to get a good look at her eyes in the dark. "Are you _high_?!"

Another fit of giggles shook her and she added the motion to her dance. "Would Rachel Berry really get high on drugs?"

"No…" Quinn dragged the word out, still trying to follow what was happening. "But the only other explanation is you are having some sort of stroke."

Rachel came to a sudden stop and grabbed Quinn's arms, leaning in close. "I have a confession." She lowered her voice dramatically. "I had a psychedelic brownie or two."

Holy crap.

"Mushrooms or LSD?" Quinn heard herself ask, dumbfounded.

Rachel tapped Quinn's nose and then became enamored with poking other parts of her face. "No, silly. It had marijuana in it – I put it there. _Shhh_."

Quinn pulled back and grabbed her wrists to keep fingers out of her nostrils. "Pot isn't psychedelic. It'll make you mellow or at worst—" She caught herself in time and didn't say paranoid. Last thing she needed in this universe was Rachel Berry on a bad trip.

"I haven't really been mellow in a long time. I think I was eight. My fathers were very concerned." Her eyes lit with humor.

Quinn glanced at the Berry household. Her fathers. If they found her like this they'd probably send her to rehab and McKinley would never win a glee competition again. "I think you should probably go to bed, Rachel, and sleep this off. And possibly let me hold onto your phone for a while. Other people might not be as receptive to your musical texts as me."

"You _are_ very receptive to me." Rachel moved closer and Quinn inched back.

"Yeah. Bedtime, alone."

Rachel stomped her foot like a petulant child. "No. I don't want to go to bed. I want to go out. I want to see and feel, feel so much. That is why I made and ate the naughty brownies. And you answered when I asked in song verse to leave."

Quinn sighed. If she couldn't get Rachel into bed – there was no word combination that didn't sound suggestive in her head – then she could at least keep her out of sight of legal guardians. "Get in."

"Yay!" She gave a little clap and hurried around the car, climbing in on the passenger side.

Quinn got in and began driving. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know." Rachel touched the window control and filled the car with icy wind. She leaned into it and closed her eyes. "Somewhere away. Until the night closes in."

Quinn reached over and flipped the now useless heater off. She turned away from the suburbs and drove around the outskirts of Lima without any real destination. "Why did you do this, Rachel?"

"I wanted to know what it felt like."

"For a role." Quinn spared a glance at her. "For a stupid play that is going to run for a few days."

Rachel was looking at her, head relaxed against the seat, content. "That's not the only reason."

"You could have just asked someone."

"I did but I had to know for myself."

Quinn shook her head. "You're a crazy idiot."

They drove in silence for a while with the quiet broken only by the occasional hum from Rachel when a random song entered her head.

"Pull off up here," she said suddenly.

Quinn did as instructed. They were outside the city with nothing but farmland around them. Distantly the orange night glow of Lima lit the horizon.

Rachel leaned all the way out the window once the car came to a stop and looked up. "This is perfect," she said and climbed the rest of the way out, not bothering to open the door.

Quinn watched through the windshield for a moment as Rachel went out into the field with her arms held wide. She thought maybe Rachel needed to pee but after several paces Rachel stopped and just stood staring at the night sky.

Quinn followed her, hanging back slightly. "I understand you have the tolerance of a bee, but you will freeze out here."

"The stars are so crisp," Rachel said, awed. "They don't look like that in New York."

Quinn shrugged. She hadn't bother to notice last year – too many other things on her mind. "Probably not, no. Too much light and pollution."

"Yeah." Rachel paused for a beat. "I'll miss them when I go."

Quinn almost said she could always come back but then realized what that would mean and decided against it. After graduation she would take up position at the county line if that is what it took to make sure Rachel never returned to Lima.

"There are other places to see them," she said instead. "Maybe from the courtyard of your manse in the Hamptons."

Rachel grinned at that.

Quinn reached for a cigarette, thought better of it, and pulled out a joint instead. She reached for her lighter and cupped her hand against the breeze to light the end of the carefully rolled paper.

She took a healthy toke and then offered it to Rachel.

"No, thank you."

"That's where you draw the line, huh?"

"I can't ruin my lungs." Even high Rachel was cognizant of her gifts.

Quinn took the hit for her and blew smoke in her direction. "Suit yourself."

Rachel didn't wave the contact high away but didn't inhale either. "Do you still sing?" she asked.

"No."

"You have such a pretty voice."

Quinn shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Can we go? I'm cold."

"_I'm laying it on the line to show you_," Rachel started to sing. "_On the line for your love to prove there is nothing I want more_…"

She gestured for backup, but Quinn just shook her head and inched away. Not caring she was singing alone, in the middle of some farmer's back yard, she kept going, "_Another dead end street. Another love gone wrong_."

Rachel was still remarkably good at this. Even on her own, mentally altered as she was, her voice remained technically solid while at the same time quivering with emotion. "_Another shattered dream. Always the same old song. I started thinking that you'd never come along. I got all this love inside, that I'm sure you want tonight_…"

It was starting to get embarrassing and Quinn wasn't anywhere close to being high enough to enjoy it. "Rachel, come on."

"Sing with me." She was also good at being demanding.

"I don't know it."

Rachel grabbed Quinn's free hand with both of hers and tugged her forward. All ten fingers were like points of ice against the pulse pounding in her wrist. "Then just follow me. I'll teach _you_ now."

"_After everything my heart's been through, I treasure every moment I spend with you. For me to feel this way is something new. Now it's got a hold of me and it's making me believe that what we got is something unlike any other_…"

Quinn did her best to keep up, her voice a little out of practice, and it took a couple of verses to come in sync with Rachel's. She tried to pantomime the words and not truly listen to them, but feeling bled off Rachel in waves. It didn't matter what sort of performance she was giving, her heart went all in. That was what made her so good.

Quinn knew that it wasn't real and did her best to resist. The pot was slowly working through her though, prying away at her grip. And the song went on longer than she thought it would or at least it seemed to as time began to lose meaning.

When Rachel hit a high note and sang "_Just to be with you_" with her hands now warm in Quinn's it was too much. Quinn pulled her in, caught her mouth, and kissed her like she wished all those girls at the club had kissed her when she took them outside. Pressing so much pent up need into her it staggered both of them.

Rachel's hand left hers and found her neck, deepening the kiss.

The song was over, there was no echo, but Quinn swore the air reverberated with music.

* * *

The streets of Lima were empty and lit only by the rows of orange street lamps. A few people traveled bundled against the cold between late night restaurants and bars, but they stayed on the sidewalks and in her car driving by Quinn could pretend they didn't exist.

She didn't know how long they had stayed out in the field, freezing and kissing and singing. It felt like hours but she couldn't be sure. It was late and soon the town would begin feeling abandoned and dead. This was the dawn of a different time of day, she knew, and it was one she had familiarity with.

Inside the car was warm and comfortable. Beside her Rachel quietly sang Show Me The Way a cappella. One hand on the wheel and the other resting on Rachel's leg, Quinn drove without destination. It felt good to just drive.

Quinn figured Rachel was still high, but soon she should start to come down and Quinn would be able to take her home. Neither of her fathers the wiser.

Rachel stopped singing and sat up in her seat. "Pull in there," she said pointing to a small plaza.

Reluctantly, Quinn did as asked. She parked in front of the only shop still open. Light from their neon signs spilled across the dashboard. "Whatever you are thinking, I would recommend against it. Strongly."

A very dangerous smile spread over Rachel's lips. "You don't know what I'm thinking."

"That is so very true, but I know about this sort of thing. You are going to have to trust me on it."

Rachel's gaze flicked between Quinn and the store. "Nothing permanent, I promise. I just want to window shop." She opened her door.

Seeing nothing but trouble ahead, even through her own buzz, Quinn got out and followed her. Rachel was probably going to have very little memory of this evening come tomorrow and if she woke up with something permanent on her performer's body an army of Skanks and Cheerios couldn't protect Quinn from her wrath.

Inside the tattoo parlor smelled faintly of green soap and witch hazel. It was brightly lit, harshly so after spending so many hours in dim light, with a tv on in the corner, muted, playing an old sitcom. Country music played from hidden speakers, waxing about youth and the joys of fast cars and a pretty girl by the singer's side. Quinn could relate to some of that.

The man behind the front desk wasn't much older than them with ink peeking out from underneath his black t-shirt and several rings and studs decorating his face. He glanced over the top of the magazine he was reading when the bells on the door jingled.

"Hey. What can I help you ladies with this evening?"

"Woo, butterflies!" Rachel headed straight for the framed templates hung along the wall.

"My friend is just looking," Quinn said. "Not buying."

He glanced at her and shrugged. "That's cool. If you'd—"

"Not buying." Quinn positioned herself between him and Rachel.

He held up his hand in defense and sunk back behind his hot rod magazine.

"Are you done?" Quinn put her hand on Rachel's back and tried to steer her away from the wall of art.

"No." Rachel's eyes were wide as she took in all the designs. "Do they hurt?"

"Yes," Quinn said. "Excruciatingly so – you wouldn't like it."

"It is very sweet of you to look out for my well being," Rachel said. "But unnecessary for two reasons. I am of sound mind in this and I have no intention of destroying the clean landscape of my flesh. Oh, no offense over there."

The clerk shrugged. "None taken … I guess."

Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. For a second she was envisioning—

"I want to get a piercing," Rachel finished.

What?

Quinn turned to follow when Rachel stepped around her. "What?"

She was already up to the counter. "Good sir, I would like a piercing please. You do that here, right?"

He smiled. "Yeah, we've been known to. You got some id?"

"No, she doesn't."

"Yes, I do." Rachel pulled out her fake id. "I'm twenty three."

He looked at it and then at her. "You don't look twenty three."

"Why thank you. A girl does like to hear that as she gets older. I have very good genes." She lowered her voice. "I also have cash money."

"Yeah, we can hook you up. Head on back to the room three doors on the right."

Rachel took her id back and started down the hall he indicated.

He pulled out a walkie-talkie held together with duct tape and thumbed the speak button. "Trish, you got a customer in bay three."

Quinn did a double take at that and started after Rachel. On her way past him, she said, "Tell Trish to disregard that."

The rear hall was narrow and had several small rooms branching off from it with only a plastic curtain providing privacy. Quinn thought she heard people and a tattoo gun buzzing in one of the rooms but didn't slow to check. The wallpaper had crinkled next to the entrance to the third room down, revealing bare wood. Quinn followed Rachel past the curtain.

Inside was a medical style chair in the center of the room that had floor levers for adjusting the incline and height. A set of drawers to one side, stool, and hand washing sink. Movable lights hung from the ceiling. It was like a kind of dentist's office only with the scary ratcheted up.

"Rachel, you need to really listen to me. I know you are experiencing all sorts of things right now, but once the high fades you aren't going to want a nose ring or eyebrow stud or whatever it is you are thinking of getting."

"Give my well cared for metabolism credit, Quinn," she said. "The psychedelic brownies left my system some time ago. I would not have come here compromised as I'm sure so many normally do. Nor would I deface myself – especially at this point in my career."

Trish picked that moment to enter, closing the curtain behind her. She was a tall woman, towering over Quinn by several inches. One side of her head was shaved down to the scalp while what remained on the other side was dyed blonde with black tips. She wore a sleeveless blue shirt that displayed several detailed portraits inked onto her arms. Tattooed across the back of her right hand was 'diamond' and across the left was 'rust'.

"What can I do for you, honey?"

Still to Quinn, Rachel continued, "I decided the best way was to get a piercing no one would see and if the mood for it passes I will just remove it and let it heal. Simple." She turned to Trish. "I would like a nipple piercing, please."

Quinn blinked in surprise … in shock, a small functioning part of her brain helpfully corrected. "Rachel, that really hurts." It was the best she could come up with as she watched Trish wash, glove up, and then pull several packages out of one of the drawers.

"I already thought of that. According to my research this place received very good reviews online for keeping pain to a minimum. Sassyguurl874 was quite pleased with her nipple and clitoral hood piercings. Five stars out of five."

Trish nodded. "I probably did her too. We don't let AJ up front take care of sensitive areas – not on female customers anyhow." She gestured toward the chair.

Rachel took off her coat and then pulled her shirt over her head in one quick motion and held both out to Quinn. "You see, they even remember their clientele. I'm fine here."

Quinn saw her hand come up and take the shirt and coat. If she'd known at the start of the evening that she was going to have to debate a subject she wouldn't have smoked that pot.

Rachel unhooked her bra and shrugged it off, handing that to Quinn as well.

If she'd known at the start of the evening that she was going to end up in a tiny hot room with a half naked Rachel Berry and a tall Amazonian woman she would have taken drugs that were much, much stronger.

"You okay?" Trish asked. "You look like you need to sit down."

It took Quinn a second to realize Trish was talking to her and not Rachel. "Yes, please."

She slid the stool over to her and Quinn nearly fell backward on to it. In her hands she still held a good portion of Rachel's clothes. Including, her fingertips informed her, warm delicate things.

"If needles bother you, you can wait outside. AJ's harmless … most of the time."

"I'd like to stay." Quinn hoped that didn't sound as creepy to everyone else as it did to her.

Even if it did, Trish just turned back to her work and Rachel sat patiently while she explained the procedure and went over the different types of barbells and rings. One signed consent form later and Trish had Rachel stand up with her arms flat against her sides.

Trish dabbed Rachel's breast with a cloth and solution that smelled strongly of the inside of a medicine cabinet.

"It's cold," Rachel said.

Needlessly said Quinn couldn't help but notice. She tried not to stare but found she couldn't look away. Rachel's nipples were dark and smaller than she'd imagined them. More thought then she'd care to admit had gone into envisioning Rachel like this and through the haze she felt old Quinn comparing the real thing to those pornographic sketches she'd made for the school to see. And the ones she kept for herself.

Even further back Lucy Fabray stood in awe of what she was witnessing. Just glad to be along for the ride.

"Are you doing both?" Trish asked, holding the back of her gloved hand to Rachel's skin until it was warm enough to mark the piercing area.

"No, just one will serve the purpose."

Using a small pick and a dab of ink Trish marked off where the horizontal piercing would go, per Rachel's instructions and Quinn marveled that she really was knowledgeable about what she wanted and how it was to be done. Maybe she really had come down before deciding to do this … and if so then that raised many new questions.

"Okay. Sit back." Trish walked around the side of the chair, spread out several tools on the table behind her, and adjusted the overhead light. She worked the floor pedals until Rachel was lying on her back.

For the first time a flicker of doubt and fear flashed across Rachel's face.

Quinn slid her stool forward, switched the clothes that she was still holding awkwardly to one arm, and took her hand. "You are a crazy person," she said.

Rachel smiled. "So says the girl with a nose ring and pink hair."

Trish seemed to like that but didn't comment. She double checked the marked area and dabbed more disinfectant on before applying a small clamp. Quinn stared, mind slightly detached, and squeezed Rachel's hand. She gripped back and closed her eyes.

"Okay," Trish said. "Take a deep breath, hold it, and then exhale."

Quinn followed the instructions too. She watched even though Rachel didn't as the needle went in.

It sparked a muffled squeak behind her compressed lips, and she dug her nails deep into Quinn's hand, but it didn't seem as bad as Quinn had feared.

Surprisingly professional given the setting, Trish slipped the barbell through the newly created hole, locked it, and used a q-tip to apply antiseptic. There was very little blood; just a trickle when the needle first went in. "Done," she said. "How do you feel?"

"I feel okay." Rachel opened her eyes and looked down. "Wow."

"Dizzy? Sick?"

"No."

Trish began throwing the wipes and gloves in the disposal bin. "Are you sure you don't want the other side done?"

Rachel touched the small barbell with her finger. "I'm sure, thank you."

Trish nodded and passed her a cool gel pack. "Hold that lightly against the area," she said. "Bleeding should stop in a few moments and this will help with any swelling. Wait here and I'll be back with your aftercare kit."

"Do you have a mirror?" Rachel asked.

Trish pulled open a drawer and handed her a small makeup mirror. Without pulling the curtain aside, she slipped out of the room.

Rachel sat up and held the mirror out in front of her, twisting and turning to stare at the piercing from different angles. There was probably a joke in a naked Berry unable to stop looking at herself, but Quinn didn't go in search of it.

"How does it look?" Rachel asked.

"It's—"Quinn tried to find the right word—"beautiful."

Rachel smiled and touched it with her index finger again.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little, yeah."

"Can I…?" Quinn lifted her hand before doubt could stop her.

Rachel nodded and turned toward her. "Uh-huh."

Quinn's fingers slipped gently around her breast and let its weight settle against her palm. Her thumb brushed the raised nipple and barbell. Rachel hissed and grimaced in pain.

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine. Not all bad."

Trish came back into the room and Quinn pulled her hand back quickly. "Okay," she said. "Here is a care kit and cleaning and care info. There are q-tips inside for any dried blood removal. Don't remove or add anything to the hole; they close up fast. When you get home take some ibuprofen and that will get rid of any throbbing you might be experiencing. Soreness is normal, as is a little swelling and redness. If they don't go away however come back here and I'll check for signs of infection or allergies.

"Any questions?"

Rachel shook her head and handed the mirror back. "No, I'm good. Thank you."

"Okay, go ahead and get dressed. When you put your bra on keep the gel pack in the cup; that will give you a little extra cushioning. I'll be up front when you are ready."

Rachel retrieved her clothes and dressed, taking a little extra care like Trish suggested. A few minutes later Quinn was again standing in the entrance way to the shop, listening to the twang of country music while Rachel paid and tipped her piercer.

"When you are ready to do the other side," Trish said, "bring your squeamish friend again and I'll give her a deal on a two-fer."

Rachel shook her hand across the counter. "That is very kind of you. Have a lovely weekend."

The bells jingled behind them and they started back toward Quinn's car. After the warm studio and decidedly heady experience within, Quinn felt the cold like a physical slap in the face. It wasn't such a bad thing though and returned some of her senses.

"I'm starting to think 'shrooms were involved in this night," she said. "And I was the one that took them. Maybe you aren't even here? Maybe I've been talking to thin air all night?"

Rachel laughed. "I assure you that you have not frenched and groped thin air tonight."

They got in and Quinn started the engine, turning the heater up to full. "Well I have to say, Rachel, that when you go badass you commit yourself."

Rachel bowed her head. "That was the idea."

"You'll be fighting me for control of the Skanks next."

"Nationals would be interesting with them instead of the glee club."

Quinn backed the car out of the parking space and pulled back out onto the main road. "So where to next? Want to knock over a mini mart or something?"

"Nothing quite so drastic." She stretched out on the small seat. "I think I'd like to rest for a little while if that is okay."

Quinn nodded and turned away from the city proper. They were both as sober as they were going to get so it was safe to return her home. Her fathers would remain clueless about the body modification unless Rachel was in the habit of walking around the house naked – though after tonight Quinn wouldn't put it past her.

City lights gave way to porch lights as she drove. Beside her Rachel drew her knees up and curled with her back against the door, facing Quinn.

Aware of the intense gaze boring into her, Quinn kept her eyes forward and hands on the wheel.

"What are you thinking?"

"That this is going to be the weirdest journal entry ever."

Rachel gave a little smile, seemed to want to say more and then thought better of it. Quinn was glad for that – she really didn't know what she was thinking at the moment and couldn't expand beyond that.

The Berry house was thankfully still dark and quiet – a little slice of suburban life. Quinn killed her lights and pulled in behind LeRoy's car.

Rachel made no move to leave; just kept sitting there staring.

Quinn knew she had to say something but wasn't sure what.

"I'm not going to kiss you goodnight, you know," Rachel finally said.

Thinking she meant that as more than a joke, Quinn's defenses – already thrown for a sizable loop tonight – started to rise.

"So that means you have to come in with me," Rachel finished after a beat. Her eyes flashing with mirth, she got out and started up the walk.

"Take me to the river indeed," Quinn paraphrased the lyric, shaking of her head and pocketing her keys.

Rachel unlocked the front door and walked in, holding it open for Quinn behind her.

The living room was dark like the rest of the house and Quinn had to blink a few times for her eyes to adjust. Last thing she wanted was to knock something over and have the Berry men come downstairs armed with baseball bats.

"I'm going to get some water," Rachel said. "Would you like some?"

"Ah, sure."

Rachel didn't seem to have any trouble navigating around the dining room table on her way to the kitchen. "You can go on up to my room if you'd like."

Quinn decided to wait by the staircase. She wasn't sure of her odds of hitting Rachel's room on the first try in the dark.

The kitchen brightened when Rachel opened the refrigerator and then darkened again. A few moments later she returned with two small bottles of water in hand. "Come on."

Taking a long swig to bring moisture back to her mouth, Quinn followed her up. Finding the right room turned out not to be something she should have worried about. Rachel's name glittered in gold paint across the door over an equally light catching star.

Quinn smiled in spite of herself.

Rachel turned her desk lamp on and then dimmed it to a more intimate level. Inside the room was less subtle than the door with copious amounts of pink decorating everything along with Broadway posters and memorabilia. In one corner was a small shrine with vinyl albums, ticket stubs, and books dedicated to Barbra Streisand. Between all the things Quinn expected to see, she also caught sight of framed pictures of the glee club dating back years to their first trip to Sectionals.

On the mirror over her dresser were more personal photos. Pictures of Finn in his football uniform. Rachel and her fathers from when she was young enough to swing between them while they held her hands all the way up to LeRoy standing next to her while she modeled her prom dress from last year.

Quinn also saw pictures of herself.

Tucked in the frame of the mirror was a prom queen flyer from the previous year, folded so only Quinn's face was visible. Also a picture from a glee practice she barely remembered when she still wore Cheerio red and white. And even a photo taken when she was carrying Beth; her face looked like a cherry tomato ready to pop.

Rachel passed her and walked to the dresser. "Make yourself comfortable," she said, using the mirror to look over her shoulder. "I'll be right back."

Carrying fresh clothes in her arms, she left the room.

Quinn took another long drink of water. She shed her coat and sat on the corner of Rachel's bed, stood, then sat again and unlaced her Doc Martens. Sliding them off she stood and walked around the room, studying things more closely.

Rachel had a corkboard on one wall next to her desk, covered in post it notes and tacked up newspaper clippings.

Quinn set the water on the desk, tipped her head, and used her finger to turn some of the pages toward the light. There were several clippings, from the school paper and local press, about the glee club losing in New York. And a tag torn off the bottom of a flyer – an ad from the Squareround Theater looking for fresh talent.

They found it, Quinn thought. In spades.

The post it notes seemed to follow the plot of her play and Quinn remembered how she had notes written in the scripts she had brought with to the theater that day. A couple of the larger sheets of paper were also about the play and had some sort of time line figured out on them. Rachel had scratched out some notes so thoroughly Quinn couldn't read them. Others had arrows with long tails suggesting where they should be in relation to one another.

Wow she was really taking this seriously, Quinn thought. It made her sad to picture how much effort had gone into something that barely anyone would ever see.

"It is my inspirational wall," Rachel said behind her.

Quinn turned, feeling like Rachel had caught her reading her journal. "Your what?"

She gestured weakly to it. "When I'm discouraged or need something to jump start my creativity I use that board."

"You keep New York on there."

"Ill advised decisions," Rachel said. "But the only way to get better is to face mistakes and learn from them. Or so says daddy."

Padding on bare feet to her nightstand, Rachel turn on the docked iPod there and adjusted the volume so it wouldn't carry beyond the room. She had changed clothes and now wore just a pair of shorts and sports bra.

"'_I brought you here so that I can express the things I've been thinkin' 'bout so give me your ear_.'" began coming from the speakers.

"Want to dance?" Quinn asked, only half serious.

Rachel shook her head and lay back on the bed. "I'm tired."

"I'll—"

"Turn off the light and come here."

"'_I used to love someone that I didn't like, we used to want to break up every other night_.'"

Moving delicately, like she was trying to avoid breaking fragile glass, Quinn settled next to her on the bed. Showing no such consideration, Rachel turned to her and let her head rest against Quinn's chest. Reaching behind her back, she pulled the bedspread up until it mostly covered them.

"Your heart's beating really fast," she said.

"Too much coffee." Quinn brought her arm around, smoothed the blanket around Rachel, and then let her hand rest on her bare shoulder.

The sounds of their breathing in the dark room seemed louder to Quinn than the song crooning from the iPod.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked finally.

"A little. I think the ibuprofen helped."

"You're incredible," Quinn said. "Or crazy. I'm not sure which."

"Crazily incredible." Rachel nuzzled closer and Quinn could feel her drifting to sleep.

The scent of apple shampoo, the same from the schoolyard what now felt like a lifetime ago, filled Quinn's nose. She tried hard to stay awake, not wanting to miss a second of this or face whatever the morning would bring.

Eventually she lost the fight and fell asleep beside her.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

She dreamed of Beth, as usual. It was bright and warm, a picnic blanket spread out on the grass, and Beth was beside her. They both wore white dresses but Quinn couldn't see Beth's face underneath her wide brimmed sun hat. Just the golden strands of hair that peeked out, matching her own.

It began to rain around them, the brightness not dimming in the slightest, but she didn't care. Beth, with her back to Quinn, turned her head up to catch raindrops on her tongue.

They splashed against Quinn's hand and she looked down at them sparkling in the almost sun. Bringing her fingers up, she tasted them.

It was honey.

Quinn opened her eyes and woke to something very real and slightly minty against her lips. Rachel's mouth.

The shock of that alone was enough to bring her to full wakefulness. Leaving the feel of the dream behind, she brought one hand up to Rachel's face and kissed back.

She was still in Rachel's bed, the covers tangled in knots, but Rachel was frustratingly fully dressed she felt.

When they broke, Rachel sat back on her heels and smiled. "Good morning."

"Morning." Quinn pushed back against the headboard until she was upright. "So … this happened."

"Putting it mildly."

Quinn fidgeted. She had never really mastered this part. "How do you feel?"

"Parts of me are a little sore but in a good way. I expected to be really hungover but I'm not."

"You wouldn't be from such a small amount," Quinn said. "I've done a lot more than that in one night and I've never been hungover."

"Well now I know," Rachel said. "I'm sorry to wake you but I didn't wish to be a cliché and leave a note. I have to go to the theater. It's very late."

"What time is it?" Quinn looked over at the clock. "Holy cr—"

"I took the liberty of texting your mother from your phone," Rachel said. "As you, I informed her that you had spent the night at a friend's house and were perfectly safe. I had to do my best to imitate your texting style so you might want to double check I did it right."

"I'm sure you did fine. Thank you. My usual … Saturday night friends wouldn't have done that."

"You also had a message delivered at three am saying 'Yo, what you doin', Bitch,'" from a Freakin' Sal. I answered back: 'Didn't catch her name.'" Rachel looked pleased with herself. "'Bitch.'"

Quinn's eyes went wide. "What have I unleashed on the world?"

Rachel laughed and rolled off the bed. "I have to go, but I'd like to see you later."

"Okay."

"I told Martin you might be by and he said he'd leave the front lobby unlocked." Rachel grabbed her coat from where it had landed the night before, came back for a goodbye kiss, and added, "I left fresh towels in my bathroom if you want a shower and there is cinnamon quinoa with nuts and berries downstairs if you are hungry. Grab some while it is warm."

Like a whirlwind passing through, Rachel was gone and Quinn was alone with so very many thoughts. After a few moments of staring at the ceiling, and the gold stars glued there, Quinn got up and collected her boots and discarded coat from the floor.

In Rachel's bathroom, using soap and shampoo that smelled incredibly familiar, Quinn took a quick shower. There wasn't a spare toothbrush – probably a good sign for Rachel – so Quinn just used a dab of toothpaste on her finger and swished it around her mouth.

It was a weird line to hold behind, especially given the night before, but she couldn't bring herself to use a strange toothbrush.

Quinn combed out her hair and dressed in the same clothes she'd worn previously. Now for the walk of shame … through the house that smelled like cinnamon and warm granola. Quinn frowned at that and glanced to the dining room. She didn't have a clue what vegan quinoa was and didn't really want to find out.

Not slowing, she headed straight for the door and very nearly made it.

"Quinn! Come here, we saved a bowl for you." LeRoy Berry.

Perfect.

She put a practiced smile on her face and turned. "Hello, Mr. Berry. Good morning."

He waved that away. "More like early afternoon but who is splitting hairs? Come eat with us."

"Oh, I don't think—"

Hiram peered out of the kitchen. "I made it and saved a bowl just for you, our daughter's special friend."

Oh crap, Quinn thought as LeRoy led her back to the kitchen and breakfast nook.

"You don't have a nut allergy, do you?"

"Um, no I don't but if—"

Hiram moved to the table and held the chair for her. LeRoy guided her into it and dropped into a chair to her right. Smiling, Hiram sat to her left. Berrys surrounded her.

Cinnamon quinoa turned out to be a warm dish that was somewhere between the constancy of granola and oatmeal with pecans and berries sprinkled liberally over the top of the darkly colored food. It was sweet but not so much so that it was unpleasant after several spoonfuls. Quinn tried to eat fast without looking like she was rushing.

"We are so glad you are helping Rachel with her play," Hiram said.

"So glad," LeRoy echoed.

"Well, I—"

"Rachel is so trusting you see, and she needs people she can depend on to look out for her and not lead her astray."

Quinn chewed a pecan and tried to judge just what they thought she was doing with their daughter. Maybe they just figured she was giving acting lessons.

"Because the wrong element," LeRoy said, "by hurting Rachel would only be hurting themselves in the long run. Wouldn't you say, dear?"

"I would say that, yes," Hiram agreed. Then after a moment added, "In the way that tarnishing anyone's soul ultimately tarnishes us all in that metaphysical grand unification sense."

Yeah, Quinn thought, they knew.

"I … agree as well," she said. "I care very much about Rachel and would never want to see anything happen to her in a grand unification sense."

"That's nice. I'm glad we all agree on that."

Hiram gestured to her bowl. "You like that? I could make more."

"It's very good." Quinn made herself take another bite. "But this will be more than enough."

She felt a sudden sympathy for Finn and what the Fabrays had put him through. Then realized the Berrys had probably done the same thing to him as well. God, her life was a tangled mess.

* * *

After a little while of parental intimidation, the Berrys cut her free and Quinn found herself again behind the wheel of her car. Navigating through the suburbs she noticed all the driveways were full and realized with a small start that it was Sunday.

Fabray Sundays used to be very structured and precise. As far back as Lucy she always could count on the ritual of dressing in her church best and spending the morning in worship followed by a social afterward and then lunch at a restaurant in town.

As she drove, Quinn thought back to that time – before Russel left, before Beth, before a lot of things – and almost missed it. Oh it wasn't the emotional abuse or rigid insistence that everything would be okay if they just kept up the appearance of being okay that she missed.

Sitting in the backseat while Russel drove, his blue suit clean and crisp, and the compressed wood smell of the church's pew in front of her when she knelt on the padded kickstand. Those were good memories.

There were many other memories, not so good, that threatened to come back up along with the happy ones, but Quinn didn't dwell on those. She wasn't even sure why she was reminiscing. It wasn't her first Sunday afternoon since parting ways with God.

Continuing past her house, Quinn drove several miles out of her way. In the opposite direction than Russel used to take all those years ago with a car full of Fabrays.

Her destination was a small single story building on the suburban outskirts. Sam had introduced her to it last year, when he was tired of the attitude their old congregation had during his family's difficulties.

The parking lot was mostly empty by the time she arrived, service having ended hours earlier. Quinn didn't care. She wasn't really here for the ceremony. At least she didn't think she was – this was the last place she expected to spend Sunday. Second, she corrected, to Rachel's bed.

Inside the decor remained basic and simple with stained windows and tan carpet all the way up to the hard wood sanctuary. There were a couple of people still seated, praying, and others talking to each other near the side exits.

Quinn took a pew in the back, away from people. No one gave her a second glance despite her hair color and decidedly ungodly attire. This would be quite the scandal in Judy's church.

She sat with her hands in her lap for a moment, unsure, and then knelt on the padded rest. Feeling sorely out of practice at this sort of thing, she bowed her head and tried to think of how to pray. Normally the pastor talked about all the people facing difficulties that needed their prayers and guidance back to the correct path.

The familiarity felt nice but that intent seemed wrong.

So instead Quinn smiled to herself, talked to God, and said 'thank you'. And felt peaceful for the first time in a long time.

* * *

Rehearsal and lunch with Rachel that afternoon sparked a weekend routine of sorts.

During the week they kept to normal schedules – Rachel overachieved and co-captained glee while Quinn pretended to slack and ruled the Skanks with an iron fist. Rachel sang down the halls of the school while Quinn smoked behind it.

Friday nights were a different story. Rachel waited on her curb and Quinn picked her up once most of Lima started to fall asleep. Sometimes they hit The Runaway or one of the other haunts Quinn knew around town; other times they just drove the dark streets.

Every Saturday morning Quinn woke up early and took Rachel, complete with her backpack and thermos, to the Squareround Playhouse. While the cast rehearsed and Rachel debated Martin over stage direction Quinn watched from the rear seats.

The story line of the play began to take shape for her. Most of the first act hung on Patrick as he struggled with the idea of selling out his band when offered a label contract as a solo artist.

Rachel was his on and off again girlfriend that seemed to exist solely to spread anarchy in the lives of those around her in the small art community they lived in. She was a mess, secretly bitter about failing at her own goals of making it big, and frequently dragged the group to wild parties.

She was unabashedly bisexual and Rachel surprisingly underplayed that. Lindsey was new to the community and still bright and pure and had promise of showing her artwork in a gallery. Rachel's drama stemmed more from whether she would corrupt Lindsey's still hopeful view of art rather than some sort of love triangle between the three leads.

That was mentioned more for humor by Allen, the male lead's best friend, because Patrick was such a sucker for Rachel even after she had cheated on him as well as other lovers multiple times.

The play really was good – Quinn found herself involved in the story, not just Rachel's role. The acting talent was the best such a tiny theater could hope for in a small town, but they did their best. It was the script and Rachel that showed the most promise. They were beyond lucky to have her. For that reason Martin probably let her get away with co-directing the production.

Quinn found it very surprising that local talent had written the play. She even Googled the title once while Rachel and the others were cleaning up, thinking it must have been an indie play written somewhere else, but the only results were from the Squareround's website and she couldn't find the author's name.

The rest of the cast seemed to get used to seeing Quinn with Rachel and eventually just accepted her as an early theatergoer they were performing for. LJ or TJ, she couldn't tell which, even put a pastry aside for her before they started for the day.

A week before opening night, as Rachel was finishing tidying the stage, Quinn slipped from her usual seat and walked outside. She pulled a cigarette free and reached for her lighter as soon as she hit the cold air.

The lighter's lid still made the satisfying clink when she closed it and Quinn savored that and the cigarette. This was her last chance for a smoke before she and Rachel grabbed a late lunch or they returned to the Berrys for an early dinner.

Quinn was hoping it was the former instead of the latter. Hiram and LeRoy hadn't said or done anything beyond normal concern from parents about a new pink haired friend in their daughter's life, and Quinn didn't think it would go beyond that – knowing them probably the opposite – but she liked the late lunches better.

Rachel was usually still wound up from the excitement of the stage and it was infectious when she talked about various scenes and how on or off point she felt they were. It let Quinn relive some of the better times from glee club.

"Do you mind?" a voice asked behind her.

Quinn turned and saw Lindsey standing underneath the small marquee overhang with an unlit cigarette held between her fingers.

"Oh. No." Quinn dug out the lighter and flicked it to life for her.

Lindsey leaned in, took a deep drag as the cigarette lit, and nodded her thanks as she exhaled. "Us rebels have to stick together," she said.

"Right." Quinn looked her up and downand saw a young pretty woman with blonde hair wearing a fashionable jacket. She was about as far away from being a rebel as one could get.

"So you are Rachel Berry's friend, huh?"

It was the first time in ever that she had been described that way, but she was in Rachel's theater world now so… "Yeah, that's me."

"What do you think of the play?"

"It's good. You're good – I was telling Rachel that after I saw you the first time."

Apparently the rules of flattery she learned from dealing with Rachel worked on all show people because Lindsey instantly brightened. "Really? Oh, I'm so glad. I'm taking acting classes at the community college and this is the biggest role I've ever had! You don't know how grateful I am to Rachel for taking a chance on me."

Quinn frowned at the odd phrasing but shrugged and said, "I'd never know you didn't have much experience. You play the up-and-comer very well."

"Thank you!" Lindsey leaned in conspiratorially. "Could you put in a good word with Rachel? I know it would mean something coming from you. I'd love to work with her again in one of her next projects."

Quinn snuffed her cigarette. "I don't think that's up to me. Or Rachel either for that matter."

"Don't be so sure. A word from a show's creator goes a long way with casting directors. It's all about who you know, you know?"

"Not even a little," Quinn said.

Realization spread over Lindsey's face and her mouth fell open in a perfect O shape.

"What?"

"I thought you knew – everyone did." Lindsey pointed at the theater over her shoulder. "Breath Against The Glass is a Rachel Berry original piece."

* * *

Quinn came to a stop just short of the stage and stared at Rachel moving around on it, understanding making her skin feel colder than it had outside. She thought back to those first days with her when Rachel had gushed about what a great opportunity this was for the local talent.

All the notes she'd written in the scripts for the other actors. The way she worked with Martin on the direction, preserving the original intent of the scenes she said.

That night in Rachel's room she had seen the outline for the show on the inspiration corkboard and hadn't even realized it. The sheet of paper with plot points written out and arrows to show how they fit together. And the Squareround's call looking for talent, she'd just assumed had been for actors.

Other less obvious things too. The way Rachel had wanted to learn how to play a bad girl, mentioning making character notes about the thing she saw around her. Turning to Santana when she thought Quinn might not help.

Oh God…

Quinn thought back to the story line of the play. Rachel's character was the one in the group that was unable to break out and make it big. She was bitter with her lot in life and was threatening to corrupt the innocence of a fresh faced talent, the one with the best chance of rising above the group.

Cold skin started to turn numb.

"What's wrong?" Rachel's voice was chirpy and she was still riding the emotional wave of a successful rehearsal.

Quinn could only stare at her for a long moment. "You wrote this," she said at last.

"Oh." Rachel glanced down sheepishly. "You found out. I was hoping to keep it a secret for at least a little while longer. It wasn't easy to keep them from publishing my name, but because I'm so young I thought it would only hurt the production. And I didn't tell you because I know you think of me as a—"

"When the hell did you write a play?"

Sheepish gave away to slightly taken aback. "If you must know, it was after New York. Finn and I parted ways but no one in the club wanted anything to do with me. You were gone heaven knows where. I had a lot of time on my hands and no real outlet to express myself." She waved her hands around indicating the theater, as though that was all the explanation required.

"So you wrote a play about … me?" Quinn was aware the other actors were looking at her but she didn't stop. She was already humiliated beyond the point of holding back now. "You are me and Lindsey is you."

"What? No. I mean you might have inspired certain themes, yes, but—"

"Oh my God." Quinn thought she might be sick right there in the front row. "All this time … what we … that night when you – oh my God."

"No, no. You are taking this the wrong way."

"Yeah, I see now that I have." She took a step back, then another, and bumped into Allen. Turning, she shoved him violently out of the way and started up the aisle.

Allen fell against several seats and hit the floor but she didn't slow or look back.

"Quinn!" Rachel raced down the stage stairs and started after her. "Come back!"

"No, Rachel." Quinn pulled out her car keys and blinked away stinging in her eyes. "I don't want to see you right now. Or ever again. Not here or at school. We are done."

She hit the lobby doors and kept on going through the parking lot.

Behind her, Rachel called out again. No hurt looks were going to work this time – Quinn saw now what a massive manipulation this whole thing had been. And how stupid she'd been to fall for it. Rachel was playing a role, a character she created just to prove to the world how much she considered Quinn a loser.

Quinn peeled out of the parking lot and hit the road directionless. She drove until she couldn't see the theater in her rearview mirror any longer.

She made it several miles before the dashboard and street ahead of her turned blurry.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The Runaway wasn't as crowded as Quinn had seen it in the past, the underground club scene no doubt ready to pick a new hotspot, but Ennis and his music were still there so people came.

Pausing at the bottom of the staircase, Quinn let her gaze sweep over the dancers and people seated at tables. She was alone but didn't want the Skanks with her. The mood she was in tonight mixed with Skanks would lead to a fight – a physical and property damaging one.

Not seeing anyone that would do as a target, Quinn made her way past the dance floor and took an empty seat at the bar.

The same bartender from the night of Rachel's indoctrination was working and looked her way.

"Jack and Coke," Quinn ordered. "Diet. Easy on the coke." She dropped a bill on the bar top and let the woman keep the change as a tip.

Stirring it once with the straw, she half stood and tossed the straw in the trash behind the bar. Taking a taste, she realized the bartender had been good to her and replaced much of the syrupy liquid with booze. Worth the tip.

Turning on the stool, Quinn stepped down and started for the front of the club. She gripped the lowball glass with the palm of her hand over the top and drank in sips between her thumb and forefinger. It was her imagination because there were speakers throughout the converted space, but the music seemed to get louder the closer she moved to the DJ station.

Ennis was in his glory wearing mirrored shades and a bright yellow jacket that stood out even in the dark club. He had a backpack at his feet and CDs spread out over his work area.

Quinn waited on the sidelines until he saw her and waved her in. She set her glass down next to his set list and leaned against the console. "Hey, Ennis."

"How you be, girl?" He offered his fist and Quinn lightly bumped it with hers.

She just gave a half smile in answer.

"Ah." Lowering his shades on the bridge of his nose, he scanned the crowd around them. "The new girlfriend went and done broke your heart, huh?"

"Hardly." Quinn took a healthy swig of her drink. "Just another one going through a phase as it turns out."

Ennis nodded knowingly. "I feel you. Whatcha getting' up to tonight?"

"Just looking to get lost for a little while. Think you can help with that?"

He reached for a CD and popped the case open with his thumbs. "I don't normally do requests, Quinn, but tonight I'll see what I can do for ya."

Quinn mock toasted him. "Thanks. I'll settle for you lightening up on the Donna Summer and Maxine Nightingale a little."

"Only tonight, hun!"

Quinn was already moving away and pretended she didn't hear him. Her mood wasn't much better for having talked to him, but at least she wouldn't have to put up with bad music on top of everything else.

No one had claimed her seat at the bar so Quinn slid back into it and held up her now empty glass in a universal signal. By the time she had thrown the second straw away harsher music began thumping through the club.

"'_Iron in the air, your tongue in my mouth. Twilight-essence hair when the moon goes south_…'"

The backlit silhouettes on the dance floor turned into figures with their arms in the air as they jumped to the heavy bass beat. Quinn turned her back on them and kept drinking.

Her third Jack and Coke arrived unasked for – Quinn glanced up in surprise and the bartender just jerked her thumb down the bar. Following her indication, Quinn saw a tall olive skinned woman with swept back brunette hair and a beauty mark above her left eyebrow. She raised her glass in silent salute.

Quinn thought for a moment and then half lifted her new drink in the woman's direction. She didn't get up though and a few minutes later the woman slid into an empty seat next to her. "Hey."

"Hey." Quinn glanced down and then up to meet expressive brown eyes. "Thanks for the drink."

"You looked like you could use another. Whoever it was, they aren't worth it."

Quinn turned to face her and braced her head against her wrist, elbow against the bar. "No, I don't suppose she was."

"My name's Tabitha."

"Quinn."

Tabitha smiled slightly and Quinn watched the way her lips quirked, looking for similarities. "So what do you do, Quinn? Besides brood in bars?"

"I fall for people that don't want me. Not really. And I let them play me for a fool."

"Oh. Well—"

"Then, to combat this," Quinn continued, "I brood in bars until someone just close enough to what they look like comes along and dance with them until they let me take them out back to my car, or theirs I don't really care which, and screw them senseless.

"And since I'm not really in the mood for the whole song and dance—"she laughed at her own joke—"how about you and I just skip to that final part?"

Tabitha gave her a look and then took her drink and left.

Quinn raised her glass to the retreating woman. "Thanks for the drink," she said again and turned back to it.

"Wow." The bartender wiped a rag where Tabitha's glass had been. "Haven't seen you scare very many off."

"You obviously haven't been watching very hard then."

"The name's Dianne," the bartender said and gave her a smile.

Quinn looked at her. She was blonde and chesty and tall. Not, according to the Skanks, anywhere close to her type. "Well it's nice to meet you, Dianne. I'm Lucy."

"If you are still around, I get off in an hour."

She did. And so did Quinn.

* * *

Behind The Runaway was an old rusted chain link fence that separated its back lot from the neighboring field where most of the patrons parked their cars. The area around it was grimy and smelled from a nearby drainage ditch. It was also the go to spot to bum a cigarette or smoke a joint, as proved by the butts littering the ground.

Ennis didn't spin records on Wednesday nights and that left customers to their own devices and a karaoke machine. It also meant Quinn had retreated to the back alley while a drunk belted out a poor rendition of Crystal Ball below.

Leaning against the brick wall behind her, Quinn took a hit of pot and blew the smoke out her nose. She only half listened as the song filtered up. Nice thing about being this close to last call was she had the alley to herself, everyone else was either gone for the night or back inside making one last play before the lights came back up.

"'_I used to like to walk the straight and narrow line. I used to think that everything was fine_,'" a voice sang over the karaoker. A voice with much more skill.

Quinn opened her eyes and saw Rachel standing on the other side of the fence.

"For an accomplished playwright," Quinn said, "why don't you understand the words 'leave me alone?'"

Rachel threaded her fingers through the loops in the fence. "You didn't answer my texts and I didn't know if you would listen to a voicemail. I have long since assumed my email address was set to go right to your spam folder."

It wasn't. "What could you possibly want now?"

Rachel slipped a hand in the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She wasn't wearing her usual school attire, Quinn noticed. In black pants, gray shirt, short dark denim jacket, and proper presentation she looked the part of someone that wouldn't have trouble walking past a bouncer. If Quinn looked closely when she moved and the jacket parted she could see the press of Rachel's barbell against the gray fabric.

"I've searched all over for you. I took a chance you might be back here and not off somewhere with, um, company."

"This is my world, Rachel," Quinn said, her voice taking on an edge. "You don't belong here."

"I'm not here to intrude on your self-destruction," she said. "I wanted to bring you this."

Quinn looked at the proffered slip of paper but made no move to take it. "What?"

"It's a ticket to opening night this weekend. I wanted you to have it in case you decided to come."

"I'm not."

Rachel folded it and left it between loops in the fence. "Still, it is here if you change your mind. I really hope you do." She turned, stopped, and looked back. "It was never about you, Quinn. My character in the play, I mean. I wrote her about myself if you must know.

"About how I felt after New York, after the club's loss, when everyone including you was gone. Everything was ruined and I didn't know how to make it right again. I knew certain tangibles about myself, things that I wanted, and I just began writing until it didn't hurt so much any longer.

"If anything you should have been flattered not offended because if you are in this story, it is as Lindsey. The beautiful and pure soul that I care about. That is how I see you. How I've always seen you.

"I didn't set out to deceive you and I'm very sorry if I did. I just wanted you to be part of it with me."

Quinn watched her go, snuffed her joint, and stared at the ticket flapping in the breeze until there was quiet from the club beneath her.

* * *

It was early morning by the time Quinn returned home. The sky already starting to turn purple with the coming day.

Letting herself in, Quinn pocketed her keys and started up toward her room. As she did so, she noticed Judy stretched out on the couch in the living room.

Quinn paused and then walked to her. Judy had fallen asleep with her earbuds still in and self-help audio book still playing. Gently removing them, Quinn rolled the cord around the iPod and set it aside.

She pulled the blanket draped over the back of the couch over Judy and unfolded the end down until it covered her legs and bare feet.

"…Quinn?" Judy's voice was groggy and slurred.

"Shh," she said. "Go back to sleep for a little while. It is going to be time to get up soon."

Already slipping back away, Judy pulled her arms in and situated herself underneath the blanket. "You're good to your mother, Quinn. A good girl."

"Yeah, that's me." Quinn sat on the edge of the coffee table and waited a few minutes until she was sure Judy was unconscious. She reached out and pushed blonde hair out of her face. "Night, mom."

Leaving the iPod on the end table, she grabbed Judy's empty glass and started for the kitchen. On her way, she sniffed the glass and pulled her head back with a grimace. She rinsed it out in the sink and left it there to dry.

For a long moment she stared at the water running, thinking.

She knew it wasn't the time of day for making big decisions, but wasn't sure she'd still go through with it after a few hours of sleep.

Hoping Coach Sue still had Thursday drills at dawn, Quinn sat at the kitchen table and pulled out her phone and began typing a message. She knew better than to call. Even if Santana was up getting ready for Sue's obstacle course, there was a good chance Brittany would answer the phone instead of her. And hearing Brittany's innocence on the other end of the line might just break her completely right now.

Quinn:_ I need a favor_.

For a long moment the phone sat dark in front of her. Then: _What?_

Quinn: _You aren't going to like it._

Santana: _What else is new?_

She smiled and typed her request. Sure enough Santana didn't like it but she agreed regardless.

* * *

It was late when she pulled into the parking lot of the Squareround Playhouse. Quinn passed several open spaces and parked around the side of the old building, near the side entrance.

Grabbing her purse from the passenger seat, she hurried across the sidewalk stretching the front of the theater. There she noticed a new sign for Breath Against The Glass had joined all the other posters advertising past shows. Rachel's name was written underneath the title in bold print.

LJ or TJ, Quinn couldn't tell which, was working the ticket line. When it was her turn at the booth, she dug in her purse for the ticket Rachel had left for her but he waved her past. "Nah. You're Rachel's friend," he said. "Go on in."

"Thanks." She smiled and snapped the bag closed. "How's the turn out?"

He looked baffled. "Much better than I expected. Than any of us did."

"Well I did my part and told everyone I knew about it."

"Want me to radio that you're here? It is frantic back there but there is still time for you to slip around and say hi."

Quinn shook her head. "No, don't. Maybe after."

"Okay." LJ or TJ waved the person behind her forward. "Have fun."

The theater was dim but not dark when Quinn entered. Only a few stragglers like herself still searched for their seats. Already knowing where to go, Quinn started up the aisle. When she bought the ticket, Rachel had forgone third row center in favor of the same row Quinn had claimed as her own when she accompanied her to rehearsals.

On her way up, Quinn glanced over and saw the entire glee club sitting near the stage. Santana was the only one to notice and gave her a You-Owe-Me-Hard-For-This look. Three rows behind the club was every single Cheerio from McKinley High, in their civilian clothes. All under strict warnings that if one disrupted the performance the entire squad as a whole would answer to Quinn, Santana, the Skanks, and Sue. In that order.

Quinn reached her section and began side stepping down to the one remaining empty seat.

"I don't know why we had to freakin' come," Sal muttered as she pulled her knees in to let Quinn by. "Not our freakin' friend."

"Shut up, Sal," Ronda said.

"You shut up."

"Hey!" Isaac leaned over his seat in front of them. "Both of you shut up. There is a special hell for those that talk in the theater."

The lights flickered overhead as Quinn settled in between her Skanks and made herself comfortable. She hadn't been lying at the door when she said she'd done her best. Gathering the fractions of McKinley in one place and keeping peace had taken all her stored up intimidation from being head cheerleader and current gang leader.

The Squareround Troupe deserved to play for a full house at least once in their run.

Murmuring gradually came to a stop as the lights went down and the curtain pulled aside. The first scene opened on Patrick and Allen and, eventually as the scene went on, Rachel joined them. It was the first time Quinn had really seen her in full costume and makeup. From the high heeled boots and tight pants with an attitude to match she could easily have fit in at The Runaway. Or anywhere else she damn well wanted.

Quinn felt a little bit of pride at that. Rachel had learned her lessons well.

She leaned forward and stayed that way for the entire play. It was different now, not just with the proper lines and costumes, but for the first time she saw what Rachel felt when she wrote the words. By the second act Lindsey was beginning her struggle to get her artwork seen while those that weren't wrapped up in their own problems secretly envied her.

In the third act Rachel's character slept with the owner of the art gallery and, in a moment of heartbreak, used the influence gained to help Lindsey's career instead of her own. Patrick rejected the solo contract to stay with Allen and the band. And the gang reunited, absent Lindsey, in the same apartment that the show started in.

Group brought full circle, Rachel had the last line where she wondered if Lindsey was ever really one of them or was just looking in from the other side of the glass the whole time.

It ended with an ovation and Quinn found herself standing and clapping along with everyone else. Maybe it wasn't Broadway caliber material but this was Lima and no one cared about that. They knew that it was good and they enjoyed themselves.

As the group linked hands and bowed, Quinn stopped applauding and just watched.

After the curtain closed and the lights came back up, people started filing for the exits. Quinn turned to the Skanks and said, "Go on ahead and make sure everyone that is supposed to leave everyone else alone does so. Keep an eye on the hockey team."

Margaret nodded. "You got it, boss."

"Freakin' crowd control. Great."

Quinn watched them go and started for the stage. She really didn't think there were going to be any problems in the parking lot, but it gave the Skanks something to do that didn't require her supervision.

She found one of the twins waiting by the stage door to let her through. "Thought you might be by," he said. "What did you think?"

"It was fantastic. You should be proud."

Quinn made her way to the open area of backstage and found it a flurry of activity. People were celebrating and congratulating each other. Martin was in the center of it all trying to hand out plastic cups of champagne to those old enough to drink and sparkling grape juice to those that weren't.

"—did you see all those people?"

"—best show we've ever done!"

"—want to work with you again."

Quinn hung back, letting Rachel have her moment in a different kind of spotlight for a change. People crowded around her and toasted her. Hiram and LeRoy made their way back and joined in like they were part of the cast. No one seemed to mind.

Flashes went off as people kept taking pictures.

Someone pushed a cup in Quinn's hand and she looked down at it, not sure if she drew the real stuff or not. She set it aside without tasting it to see.

Eventually she managed to catch Rachel's gaze and jerked her head toward the dressing area. The Squareround didn't offer individualized dressing rooms and instead had a side area of the space curtained off with mirrors and makeup tables inside each. Racks of clothes, from several of the shows on the outside posters, hung nearby.

Rachel managed to slip away and made for the largest cubical. Hers of course.

Quinn followed her and pulled the curtain for privacy.

"You came." Rachel's eyes were wide and she still bounced excitably from foot to foot. This was a different kind of high and one Quinn had seen first hand several times now.

"I realized I would have been stupid to miss it."

Rachel bit her lip, eager and afraid to ask what she really wanted to know.

"I loved it," Quinn said, putting her at least a little at ease. "You are scary good, Rachel. You really are."

Even through layers of stage makeup, Rachel's cheeks darkened. "I couldn't have done it without you. Acting or writing."

Quinn put her hands in her pockets and took a half step forward. It was still a small space, she realized, even though it was the best the Squareround could offer. "Listen, ah, I'm sorry too. I might have overreacted a bit when I found out."

"A little," Rachel admitted. "But it is the theater and that happens. We're all allowed our freakouts here, especially before showtime. And I could have told you myself. Maybe I figured it would have scared you off if you knew everything."

Quinn nodded. "About what you said…um..."

"I meant it, if that is what you are wondering. All of it."

Quinn opened her mouth but before she could speak people began chanting Rachel's name from the other side of the curtain. Calling for her to come back to the celebration.

Rachel's gaze flicked between Quinn and the curtain, obviously wanting to be in both places.

"Go ahead," Quinn said. "It's your moment – go enjoy it."

"Are you sure?"

Quinn nodded. "I'm sure."

As she hurried past, Quinn reached out and grabbed Rachel's arm. She pulled her in and kissed her.

When they parted, Rachel bit her bottom lip shyly. "You are going to be here when I get back, right?"

Quinn smiled. "That wasn't a goodnight kiss."

* * *

It was the dawn of a different time of day. Late and still and cold. While most of the people in the world slept others began to come alive.

"I figured I still owed you that ride home," Quinn said.

Rachel finished locking up the side door – because all the actors used the service entrance – and followed her from the alley.

Quinn's car sat by itself in the lot, already running with the heater on full. She walked to it and climbed in behind the wheel, Rachel dropping into the passenger seat beside her.

The theater's lights were dark but the car's headlights illuminated the poster for Breath Against The Glass. Quinn paused and let Rachel stare at it for a moment, now understanding why Rachel had looked at the theater the way she had that first time.

"Even if we close tomorrow," she said, "totally worth it."

Quinn agreed and took her foot off the brake. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah." Rachel reached over and threaded her fingers with Quinn's. "Just one thing though."

"What?"

She gave a smile worthy of her character on stage but it was all her. "We don't have to go home, do we?"

"No we don't. In fact I know just the place." Quinn pulled from the lot to the deserted street. Rachel was next to her singing to the music on the radio and the world belonged to them.

They drove into the night.

**End**

* * *

**Afterword**: Thank you all very much for the kind comments, favorites, and alert follows. It has been a long time since I was in such an active fandom and you all have made me feel so welcome. Knowing so many of you enjoyed this as I've been posting it made my CampNaNo experience even better and I didn't think that was possible. Thanks again so much.


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